Wizards Duel - A Summer Place
by monkeymouse
Summary: Harry Potter and Cho Chang are half a world apart--this summer, expect the unexpected...
1. Back to the Family

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
(an interlude between year five and year six of "Wizards Duel")  
  
by Patrick Drazen  
  
a/k/a monkeymouse  
  
2.1: Back to the Family  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
When Harry's taxicab pulled up to number four, Privet Drive in the late June afternoon, everything about the house looked as it had since Harry could remember--except for the penguin on the lawn.  
  
As the Hogwarts students made their way into the Muggle side of King's Cross, Harry was actually relieved to see that Uncle Vernon was nowhere to be seen. Harry's uncle was of two minds about fetching Harry from the station this year. As much as he hated the wizarding world, Vernon Dursley wasn't about to leave a minor to his own devices—especially if the minor in question could call on his misbegotten friends for help. Harry might show up in Little Whinging with a flock of man-eating minotaurs or something.  
  
Yet Harry would reach age sixteen in about a month—an age when a youth in Britain could begin living as an adult; even get married if he wanted. Uncle Vernon therefore decided to grant Harry a little bit of independence. He had contacted Arthur Weasley and gotten Hogwarts' postal address, then mailed a five-pound note to Harry (knowing that this wouldn't be enough to cover the cab fare) and told him that he could find his own way home, as he'd done it often enough.  
  
While the driver gave Harry his trunk and settled up the fare, with Hedwig eyeing the strange bird through the bars of her cage, the penguin hopped up and down on the grass. When the taxicab left, the bird waddled happily over to Harry and started flapping one arm. The arm had a message tied to it.  
  
Even at a glance, he recognized Cho's handwriting. Forgetting where he was or how the penguin would look to the Dursley's neighbours, he tore open the letter:  
  
"Ohayo Harry! (That's hello) I hope you got through your OWLs all right.  
  
"Japan--well, there are so many thing to talk about I can't possibly put them all in this letter! Maybe the best thing about Kesshin Maho Gakuin is that it's up in the mountains, so high up that there's skiing even in the summer. I was never keen on it, but I think I'll take it up, especially since I'll have lots of time here this summer.  
  
"That's the bad news, I'm afraid. My parents are keeping me here all summer, and probably right through next year until I graduate. But it's only a year, and then it'll be over! I know one year won't change how we feel.  
  
"Please write as soon as you can. The buildings here are beautiful, but the scenery is so barren—nothing but snow-covered mountains. I live for the day when I see Hedwig flying over the mountains with your scroll.  
  
"All my love, Cho  
  
"PS: Don't worry about Andy; he's keeping his distance.  
  
"PPS: I never had the chance to tell you how magnificent the stag looked that said good-bye to me in Hogsmeade. For a moment--but only for a moment- -I wished I could turn into a deer. Someday, I'll tell you why..."  
  
Harry didn't know exactly why it happened, but he felt the colour rise in his cheeks. He was fairly sure he knew what Cho was referring to...  
  
He felt a tug on the knee of his trousers. The penguin was pulling at the cloth, trying to get his attention.  
  
"Oh! Er, no reply just yet. You may as well go back. It wouldn't do for you to hang about here."  
  
The penguin cocked its head sideways at Harry, then waddled down Privet Drive. Harry hoped the Dursleys weren't anywhere about. The Dursleys were the worst kind of Muggles, because they knew about the magical world parallel to their own and still wanted no part of it. While some Muggles don't have a clue about the wizarding world going on all around them, others like the Dursleys disapproved of flying on broomsticks and casting spells and all the rest of it. Even something mildly unusual--like a penguin on a lawn in a housing development in Little Whinging--was most unsatisfactory in their eyes.  
  
Harry took the trunk up to his room, closed the door, then pushed his trunk up against it. This was the nearest thing he had to a lock. The Dursleys used to lock him in at night; only recently had he decided he wanted to lock them out. He probably could have secured the door with a spell of some kind, but there were rules about underage wizards using magic, especially in Muggle communities. Harry knew all about those rules; he had broken them several times, though not always on purpose.  
  
Wait a moment, Harry thought. I'll turn sixteen this summer. Is that still underage for wizards? Hermione would know, but she would be unavailable most of this summer. She said she would be going with her parents (who were Muggle dentists and apparently well off) on a long holiday on the Mediterranean, spending time in Spain and Greece.  
  
Ron might know, and if not Ron then certainly his father. Arthur Weasley had a job at the Ministry of Magic; so did his son Percy. No; wait. They're no good either, Harry thought. Percy is marrying his girlfriend Penelope this weekend. Mrs. Weasley had wanted Harry to come to the wedding, even though it was for the families only, but Harry didn't want to be the exception yet again. He also told Mrs. Weasley that he didn't want to distract anything from Percy and Penelope on their special day. (Privately, Harry doubted that the Dursleys would let him attend in the first place. He also wanted to wait until the day when he was at the altar, watching Cho Chang walk down the aisle toward him.) After the wedding, the whole Weasley family--including its newest member--would spend the summer traveling around the country, starting in Cornwall the day after the wedding. Even Bill and Charlie, older than Percy but still single, would be flying back for the first wedding in the family.  
  
Don't reckon that Percy and Penelope will have too much privacy on their wedding night, Harry smirked to himself; not if I know what Fred and George are capable of. No sooner did he start to think it, though, than he realized his "other wand" started to stiffen. That had been happening more and more often, whenever he thought of anything vaguely to do with sex. Unfortunately, in his adolescent perspective everything seemed to have something vaguely to do with sex. This was less of a problem at Hogwarts; the school robes covered up anything potentially embarrassing. Here on Privet Drive, though, he couldn't wear his robes without attracting attention.  
  
At least nobody seemed to be at home now. Uncle Vernon would be at the office, as he had written Harry, and maybe Aunt Petunia and Cousin Dudley were shopping at the market. They didn't seem to be around, in any case. He pulled out a blank scroll, his inkpot and a quill.  
  
"Dear, Dear Cho--  
  
"After what happened, I'm sorry that I got you involved with me and Snuffles. I didn't mean to get you sent halfway round the world. We should be spending this summer together. Surely next summer, when you get out of that place.  
  
"Maybe you heard that you won the Cup for Ravenclaw. Seriously--even though you were gone, at the banquet Dumbledore awarded you points for being in Hogsmeade to fight off the Death Eaters. Maybe something good always comes out of something bad. I don't like that--it would mean that something bad will come out of something good. I hate to think that something bad will come of our being together, because that's the best thing I know.  
  
"I've missed you every day since you left. I don't know how I'll get through the year without you to see and to talk to and to touch..."  
  
"WHAT'S ALL THIS THEN?"  
  
Harry jumped straight into the air. Someone had snuck into the room and was standing behind Harry while he was concentrating on his letter.  
  
He turned to face the intruder. It was a boy about Harry's age, but a little taller and much broader. It truly took Harry a few seconds to place him...  
  
"DUDLEY?!"  
  
Two summers ago, Dudley Dursley had been told in no uncertain terms that he had eaten his way to the end of his rope. The school he attended simply didn't have uniforms large enough to suit him. Uniforms, however, were the least of his worries; the nurse at his school warned of dire health consequences if he didn't lose weight. He was put on a strict diet, which Aunt Petunia then inflicted on the rest of the family. Harry hadn't noticed any real improvements the last time he was home. All that concerned him was Dudley's temperament: as mean and stupid as ever.  
  
While Harry was at Hogwarts this year, however, the last piece of the puzzle had been added: lifting weights. Dudley found this to be the least objectionable form of exercise, since it was mindlessly repetitive and he could watch television while doing it. Then he started getting good at it; his parents fitted out the basement as a gym for him, and the results began to show. He'd lost enough of his bulk to fit into a school uniform again. The rolls of fat were gone, and what was left was solid muscle. Unfortunately for his schoolmates, Dudley wasn't shy about using his new muscles. Dudley was wearing a sweaty t-shirt and smelled like a changing- room, so he was apparently in the basement when Harry arrived.  
  
Dudley had snatched the letter from the desk where Harry was writing it.  
  
"Give it back!"  
  
He reread the last line Harry had written. "You writing to some girl?"  
  
"I said, give it back. Please."  
  
Dudley looked at the top of the scroll. "What's Cho--some sort of nickname?"  
  
"That's her name, if it's any of your business. Cho Chang."  
  
Dudley's eyebrows went up. "Don't they have any sense of decency at that school? Mummy and daddy would go berserk if they thought I was shagging a Chink."  
  
Until this moment, Harry had never been foolish enough to take a swing at Dudley, but he took one now. Dudley side-stepped it easily, then shoved Harry across the room.  
  
"You watch your mouth about her!" Harry yelled.  
  
"Or else what?" Dudley sneered. "What are you gonna do--try to turn me into a dog or somethin'? We know the rules now, you know, and we know you're not allowed to practice magic at home at your age." He opened Harry's trunk and grabbed the first thing he saw. "So there's not a lot you can do to me, is there? Just like old times."  
  
Harry saw that Dudley had grabbed Cho's Christmas present to him. His mind raced. "Yeah, okay, whatever you say. Just don't open that."  
  
"Don't what?" Dudley said, pretending he hadn't heard.  
  
"Please, don't open that box."  
  
Dudley being Dudley, he opened the box. Sure enough, the translucent sphere bloomed out of the box. Dudley screamed and dropped it on the floor. There was the miniature mountain within the sphere, and climbing up and down the mountain were the three miniature Chinese Fireballs. In Hogwarts, though, the dragons took no notice of Harry. All three of them were looking at Dudley now, with sparks flying from their mouths. They did not seem happy to see him.  
  
Harry shook his head solemnly. "You've done it now, Dudley."  
  
"What? What did I do?"  
  
"That's a dragon egg. I just had it for show, but you've gone and set it off. Those three'll hatch out of that in about fifteen minutes. Five minutes after that, they'll make a quick meal of Privet Drive, and then move on from here. Good thing you've got a strong back."  
  
"Huh? Whaddya mean?"  
  
"I reckon you'll have to work for about sixty years to pay all the damage off."  
  
"WHAT?! Nothing doing; it's YOUR egg, Harry!"  
  
"Yes, but I told you not to open the box, didn't I? There isn't a court in England--or a wizarding court, for that matter--that would blame me for this."  
  
"You've got to do something! Help me!"  
  
"But I'm not allowed; you said so yourself."  
  
"HARRY! PLEASE!"  
  
Harry pretended to take a few seconds to think about it. "All right, then, but you can't be in here while I try to stop it. If it backfires, no sense in both of us getting burned to cinders. Go down to the kitchen and wait for me there. Oh, and while you're there, do you think you could make me a sandwich? Is there any roast beef?"  
  
"Uh, no, but there's ham left over from Sunday."  
  
"That'll do fine, then. I'll be right down. Better hurry."  
  
Dudley seemed to come out of his trance and tore down the stairs.  
  
Harry couldn't help but chuckle as he took the letter he was writing to Cho, the inkpot and the quill, and put them back in the trunk. Then he collapsed the sphere back into its box and put that in the trunk as well.  
  
Now Harry had to stop and think. Even Dudley has his limits, and he might not be so easy to fool the next time. Then there were Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, who weren't as dim as their son. If he had to try to trick his way through the summer...  
  
Then he stopped. WHY stay here all summer? The Dursleys wanted him gone as much as he wanted to be gone. He'd spent part of the last few summers away from Privet Drive; why not all of this summer?  
  
But wait. The Dursleys were still family. His mother's family. Yes, he thought bitterly, and they loved her about as much as they love me. Petunia called Lily a freak--her own sister. The Dursleys may be relatives, he decided, but they're not family. And there's no point in staying where you're not wanted.  
  
He knew he had to rush before he changed his mind. Placing Hedwig's cage on the trunk and picking them both up, he carried them to the front door. Dudley, in the kitchen, heard the noise and came running out with Harry's ham sandwich.  
  
"Problem solved," Harry smiled, as he threw the sandwich into his trunk as well. "That was a near thing, though. You ought to be more careful in the future." Harry started out the door.  
  
"Hey, wait!" Dudley shouted as Harry walked to the street. "You just got here! Where are you off to now?"  
  
Harry set down the trunk and turned to Dudley. "To tell the truth, I don't know yet. Maybe I'll backpack around Europe, or maybe I'll just ride the Underground for two months. All I know is, you lot never could stand the sight of me, and I'm giving you what you want most. I'm off!"  
  
Harry picked up the trunk and walked to the end of Magnolia Crescent. The streetlights were just winking on as he set the trunk down and stuck his arm out, as if he was hailing a taxi.  
  
Dudley watched him in disbelief. "Stark staring mad," he muttered.  
  
A minute later, he'd turned his gaze away from Harry--he MUST have turned away--because he looked again, and  
  
Harry and his trunk were gone.  
  
…to be continued… 


	2. Out Here On My Own

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
by monkeymouse  
  
a/k/a Patrick Drazen  
  
2.2: Out Here On My Own  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
Dudley, being a Muggle, had completely failed to see the Knight Bus, a gigantic purple triple-decker. Harry had taken it before, though, and knew what to do and where to go.  
  
As Harry picked up his trunk, the conductor, in a uniform just as purple as the bus, started what Harry supposed was a standard speech: "Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for . . ." He left off, however, as soon as he saw Harry. "'Ello, look 'oo's 'ere!" He called in to the driver. "Ern, lookit this! We got the other one!"  
  
The driver, who Harry remembered was named Ernie Prang, just looked over and nodded. "That's the lot, then?"  
  
"Oh, yeh," answered the conductor, Stan Shunpike (whose name was on his uniform). "Lucky we got you, Neville. You're the last today."  
  
Harry wanted to correct Stan about his name—a mix-up which had started almost three years ago, but Stan's last comment stopped him. "Why am I the last?"  
  
"Well, we're full up, ain't we? Got not a bed left. Where are you off to, then?"  
  
"Er, London. Diagon Alley."  
  
"Right, then. You're on third floor, kip number five. 'Ot chocolate?" Harry nodded. "I thought so. Remembers all the passengers, I do, and I know Neville likes 'is 'ot chocolate. Firteen Sickles, please."  
  
Harry was lucky; he still had two Galleons in a trouser pocket, and wouldn't have to tear through his luggage for change. As he paid the fare, he tried to explain again. "Look, when I took the bus the last time, I know I told you my name was Neville Longbottom. But that's not who I am."  
  
Stan, who still looked like a teenager, seemed almost offended. "You fink I don't know my passengers? O'course I know 'oo you are. You're the Neville Longbottom 'oo says 'e's 'Arry Potter."  
  
Harry decided he'd better give up trying to explain, or they'd be at it all night. Stan grabbed Harry's trunk, Harry took Hedwig and her cage, and they climbed the circular stairs to the third deck.  
  
"Been 'appenin' a lot, y'know, fillin' up like this. We keep askin' the Ministry to put another bus on the line; the way they act, you'd fink we was askin' for our weight in Galleons. 'Course, they say it's all security measures, because of You Know 'Oo an' 'is followers. Load of rubbish; I'd know it if a Death Eater ever set foot on this bus."  
  
They'd reached the top deck and Stan shoved Harry's trunk under a bed in a back corner. "I'll bring both your chocolates up in a minute." Stan turned to go.  
  
"Wait! What do you mean, both?"  
  
He cocked his head toward one of the other beds. "You an' the other Neville, o'course."  
  
The light inside the bus was dim, with only candles beside each bed. But Harry had to stop from shouting when he saw, sleeping in one of the beds, his roommate at Hogwarts Neville Longbottom! Neville was sleeping, and he decided to let him sleep; Stan could wake him with the cocoa.  
  
The Knight Bus let off a loud BANG and lurched forward as if it had been shot from a cannon. Harry lost his balance and fell back onto his own bed. He decided to just wait there until Stan came back. But the bed was so soft that Harry soon dozed off himself.  
  
A violent jolt woke him back up. He didn't know if he'd been asleep five minutes or an hour. He sat up in bed, hearing a commotion on the level below. After a minute, Stan came up with two mugs of hot chocolate. He set one by Neville, who had managed to sleep through the stop, and brought the other to Harry.  
  
"Is anything wrong?" Harry asked.  
  
"Nah, nothin' much," Stan said. "Only that was the Moirgraine family. This is Liverpool, an' they're taking the next boat over to Ireland. They'd bought a leprechaun in a cage for their son; shoulda known better."  
  
"Is the leprechaun angry?"  
  
"Hard to tell, since it isn't a leprechaun. It's a clurachaun."  
  
"I remember them from a Magical Creatures class at Hogwarts. They're like first cousins to leprechauns, aren't they?"  
  
"Very good, Neville. And they're almost impossible to keep. 'Ates bein' cooped up, they do. O' course, it's all because Mister Moirgraine goes lookin' fer bargains in Knockturn Alley. That's the place to stay away from."  
  
Harry nodded; he'd been there before.  
  
The bus gave another loud lurch. "Well, back to it," Stan said, walking to the stairs and calling "Manchester next!"  
  
This finally disturbed Neville's sleep enough so that he gradually woke up. "Gran, how much longer…Harry!"  
  
Neville jumped out of his bed, tripped on a shoe, and almost put his eye out on the foot of Harry's bed. But he picked himself up, none the worse for wear, and said, "Never thought I'd see you here!"  
  
"Same here. Where are you going?"  
  
"Gran and me, we're…" Neville caught himself, and was silent for a minute. "We're just going on a little vacation."  
  
Harry realized the mistake. Neville didn't want to talk to anyone—even his dormitory mates—about his parents, driven mad by Death Eaters and hospitalized at St. Mungo's. Harry knew about them only because he had eavesdropped on one of Dumbledore's memories, and Dumbledore had sworn Harry to secrecy.  
  
"Yeah, well, I'm on my way to Diagon Alley."  
  
"Bit early to shop for supplies."  
  
"No, I'll be there all summer, I think. I've got to get away from the Muggles."  
  
"Oh. Good, then." He still seemed a bit hesitant, as though he wasn't sure about saying anything else. "Well, Harry…that is, there's something I, I want to ask."  
  
"Sure, what is it?"  
  
"Well, am I attractive?"  
  
Harry's eyebrows must have shot up like an escaping Snitch. "I don't mean to you!" Neville hastily added, blushing deeply. "I mean, well, do I look all right?"  
  
Harry had to think about it. When he'd met Neville years before, he was a chubby, round-faced and rather clumsy boy. The clumsiness was still with him but—now that Harry had to stop and think about it—Neville had lost most of the chubbiness, and was developing the kind of rugged good looks that reminded Harry of Cedric Diggory.  
  
"Yeah," Harry nodded, "I think you look fine."  
  
"Well, yeah, but does anyone else think that?"  
  
"Neville, I really don't know what you're driving at."  
  
Neville reached for his mug of cocoa. Just as he picked it up off the bedside table, the bus gave a massive lurch to the side. Neville ended up spilling most of his mug on the floor of the bus. Harry drew out his wand, pointed it at the spilled chocolate and said "Pristine". The floor was immediately spotless. Harry then poured some of his cocoa into Neville's mug.  
  
"Thanks. Well, oh, never mind."  
  
"Come on, Neville, what is it?"  
  
"I can't tell you."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because it's about you."  
  
That brought Harry up short. "So," he said slowly, "this has something to do with someone I like."  
  
"No, someone who likes you."  
  
This was too much of a mystery to cope with at—Harry checked his watch—three o'clock in the morning. "Neville, you know about me and Cho. I'm not really interested in anyone else."  
  
"You mean that? Are you sure?" Neville hadn't looked so hopeful in ages.  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure. If you've got a girlfriend, more power to you."  
  
The Knight Bus jolted to a stop. Stan appeared in the doorway. "Right Neville, we're at Saint…"  
  
Neville was waving at Stan to keep quiet, but he'd let one word slip. Neville looked down at his lap, unable to look at Harry.  
  
"Come on," Harry said, hitting Neville on the shoulder. "I'll help with your suitcase."  
  
Neville had two bags; he gave one to Stan, but Harry took the other. "Where did he say this is," Harry asked. "Saint Ives, right? I've heard there's lots of places to vacation near Saint Ives."  
  
Neville wasn't sure, but he thought that somehow Harry knew about his parents, but was pretending that he didn't know. He was sparing Neville's feelings; nobody had ever done that before. As he got off the bus, he held out a hand for Harry to shake. "Thanks, Harry."  
  
Just then a woman stepped down off the Knight Bus. "Are you Harry Potter, then?"  
  
"Of course, gran. Don't you recognize the scar?"  
  
Harry didn't have much trouble recognizing Neville's grandmother; once, in a Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he'd described her wardrobe as, to put it mildly, eccentric even for the wizarding world. She'd toned it down for traveling, but not by much: she was wearing Neville's red-and-gold Gryffindor winter scarf, even though it was summer, her hat sported three large feathers and a bunch of grapes, and her apple-red handbag still clashed with her green robes.  
  
"Pleased to meet you, Harry. Neville has said so many good things about you."  
  
"You too. I mean, well, he hasn't told us a lot about you."  
  
"He has enough to worry about in his life, the poor boy. So do you, I daresay."  
  
"Er, yeh, well, you know…"  
  
"Hop it, Neville, we've got a schedule to keep!" That was Stan's voice back on the bus.  
  
Harry remembered himself as he climbed back on the bus. "See you at Hogwarts, Nev!" Harry called as the bus lurched forward.  
  
Harry made his way up to the top deck of the Knight Bus, which was rocking and pitching like a ship at sea. He dived onto the bed without taking off his glasses. The bed must have been enchanted, because he fell asleep almost at once.  
  
He didn't know if the bus's last large shudder woke him up, but he realized that he was in Diagon Alley, in front of the Leaky Cauldron. He grabbed his trunk, with Hedwig in her cage on top, and descended to the street.  
  
"I expect we'll see you again next summer, eh Neville?" Stan asked as Harry got off.  
  
"Maybe sooner," Harry answered; "who knows?"  
  
Stan hopped onto the large bus, which seemed to vanish before Harry's eyes.  
  
At this hour—Harry reckoned that it must be sunrise—Diagon Alley was quiet. Nothing seemed to be open. He went into the Leaky Cauldron, where he saw old Tom, the innkeeper, shuffling down the steps in a long nightgown.  
  
"Thought I heard that ol' bus," he gave Harry a toothless smile. "Good to see ye again, Mister Potter."  
  
"Thanks. I'll be staying right through to September 1 this year."  
  
"Well, tha's quite a stretch for a boy like—Listen to me, will ye. Ye're a right young man, you are. Lookin' more like James Potter every time I see yeh."  
  
"Thanks. But, I have to wait 'til Gringotts opens…"  
  
"Think nothin' of it, Mister Potter. But for the next time, all ye have to do is write what you need in a letter. Yer owl can just fly in the night slot, and there'll be a goblin waitin' with yer money when the bus arrives."  
  
"Ah. Thanks for the tip. Can I go up now?"  
  
"Of course. Right at the top of the stairs. Breakfast will be ready in about an hour."  
  
Harry got the trunk upstairs and into a room. As soon as he entered, the mirror spoke up: "Grand to see ye again, Mister Potter."  
  
"Yeah, thanks." Harry opened the trunk, took out the letter to Cho he had started, ink and a quill, and continued writing:  
  
"I started this letter when I got back to Privet Drive. First thing I saw was your penguin on the Dursleys's lawn. I don't think they saw it, but they would have pitched a fit if they had. Anyway, as soon as I was in my room Dudley came in and wanted to pick a fight. When that happened, I finally said to myself: what am I doing here? They treat me worse than you'd treat a dog. So I packed it all up and I've taken rooms in Diagon Alley for the summer! You can owl me at the Leaky Cauldron. It's a bigger step than I'd planned to take yet, but I think it's the right time.  
  
So tell me all about Japan; tell me all about the school; tell me how much you miss me because every one of my letters is going to tell you how much I miss you.  
  
Also, how much I love you.  
  
Harry"  
  
He was a little nervous as he let Hedwig out of her cage. "I'm going to be asking a lot of you this summer," he said, "and you may not like it."  
  
Hedwig bobbed her head, as if she understood.  
  
Harry attached the scroll and opened the window. Hedwig stretched her wings to their full span, then shot out of the window and into the sky.  
  
…to be continued… 


	3. On the Hunt

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
by monkeymouse  
  
a/k/a Patrick Drazen  
  
2.3: On the Hunt  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
The next day, Harry got two letters from Cho, the first one was rather large and carried by a small but strong hawk. He suspected this bird had passed Hedwig in mid-flight.  
  
"Dearest Harry,  
  
It's three o'clock in the morning, and I can't sleep. Maybe it's because I've only been here since yesterday and my body is still on Green Witch Time. Maybe it's because there are so many amazing things to see here, but I don't have you to share them. Except through this letter, which will be the first of many!  
  
KMG isn't one large castle like Hogwarts, but a campus of two dozen different buildings, all within a mile or so of a central temple. I'll try to find a picture of the temple to send you: it's in the old Chinese style, with a gilded roof and stands seven stories tall. It holds the offices and living quarters for the faculty, and a large hall for ceremonial occasions.  
  
The students are split up, though it's by year and not by House. Each year has several sections you get sorted into. But each section in each year is run by a senpai--that means "upperclassman", and it's probably the first Japanese word I learned here! The senpai's word is like a teacher's; you don't question it. Like a Prefect, I guess.  
  
There are only a few ghosts on campus, and one of these is the Snow Woman. She generally comes out when the wind is up and the snow is falling; she flies around the grounds, and her skin is snow-white, so all you can see is her eyes as they float by! But each of the mountains has its own "god" (ghost, really--usually of a hiker who got lost in a blizzard), so, once you get off the campus, the ghosts are pretty lively! (Yes, I know--bad joke!)  
  
The dormitories are all built in the style of a thousand years ago, what they call the Heian era. It means wooden floors, with straw mats called tatami, and paper screen walls, but all the buildings are charmed so that the wind and snow and cold never get in. I'm sitting on a veranda while I write this, just inches from weather that doesn't affect me or spoil this letter. We sleep twelve to a room, not in a bed but on the floor on futon, which are these HUGE, well-stuffed and very soft comforters. They really are wonderful for sleeping, and I'm sure the only reason I'm wide-awake is that I'm too excited, and I'm thinking of you.  
  
There's something strange and wonderful here every place I turn, but also something that reminds me of home. Breakfast yesterday included hot soup as well as bacon and eggs; the kids here drink tea and fizzy soda, but also cold canned coffee! And the bath-- Actually you wash up in a small room, then go into the bath, which is more like a huge spa. There are tropical plants and waterfalls and fountains—it puts the Prefects' tub to shame! There are still a few active volcanoes in these mountains, and the water must be heated by one; it feels hot enough to cook a lobster--except some of the waterfalls are cold as ice! (I understand there's a religious reason for that.) The bath holds twenty people comfortably, so each section takes a scrub and a soak in turn. I've been told that, until a few decades ago, boys and girls here shared the same tub. The school had to stop that, only because parents of foreign students got nervous about it. Maybe if my parents had heard about that one, they would have let me stay at Hogwarts(!)  
  
Well, I've written all night, the sun is about to come up. I'll get through the day as best I can--I'm sure I won't have trouble sleeping tonight! I'll tell more in a day or two.  
  
With all my love, to you, my love  
  
Cho"  
  
Later that same day, Hedwig returned with a hastily written scroll:  
  
"You've left the Muggles? Well done and it's about time! You've never been anything but miserable with them--at least I've had good times with my family as well as bad ones.  
  
Speaking of which, I have to say it again, especially since you're living in Diagon Alley: DO NOT TRY TO FIND MY PARENTS! I'm pretty sure that they have a Confundus charm around the shop, to stop you from ever finding it. Just give them a little more time, and I know that one day they'll welcome you into their home.  
  
Give Hedwig a rest--I'm sure she's earned it--and write me a nice, long letter (not too long, for Hedwig's sake) telling me what you've been up to. KMG is in session year-round(!) so I'm not lonely; I've already made a few friends here among the girls. They've been teaching me to ski and to speak Japanese (but I'm still very bad at both). They're very nice, and I think they've taken it upon themselves to make sure that I don't get lonely. But I can't help it; I wish you could be here, or I could be there.  
  
Miss you, my love  
  
Cho"  
  
Harry spent the next hour reading those letters over and over and over again. Then he decided that, no matter what Cho said, it wouldn't hurt to do a little sightseeing up and down Diagon Alley, and while he was out, if he just happened to pass in front of the Changs' apothecary shoppe--  
  
At sunrise the next morning he slipped on his shoes and dashed down to the pub, where old Tom was serving breakfast. As eager as he was to start searching, he felt a half-dozen different kind of nervous flutters in his stomach. He only had a light breakfast.  
  
Afterwards, with the tables cleared, Harry approached Tom. "You know Diagon Alley pretty well, right?" Harry said, trying to sound casual.  
  
"Can't think o' anyone knows 'er better," Tom boasted. "Seen 'em all come, seen a few of 'em go."  
  
"Then you know the Changs? They have some kind of herb shoppe."  
  
"Bless me, yes. I stops in every now and again. They got stuff that does wonders for me back."  
  
"I can imagine. Well, I know how to get there, of course, but I think I might be taking the long way round to it. What do you think is the best way to take?"  
  
"Well, that's easy enough. You take three kittens down to the pitcher full o' brine, throw a mackerel at the potatoes, but be sure to spend twenty Sickles to feed the gum trees in Hyde Park."  
  
WHAT? Harry thought the old man had gone mad. "Could I have those directions again, just to be sure?"  
  
"O' course. Ye toss a bicycle off the top of the Eiffel Tower, run around the Statue of Liberty in the rain, but never forget--you've got to throw the overalls in Missus Murphy's chowder."  
  
"Right. Er, thanks." Harry rushed outside into Diagon Alley.  
  
Is that what the Confundus charm does to you? he wondered. He'd once spent an entire class period fighting off Confundus charms, but it never felt like that. This must be some sort of Chinese variation on it, he thought. From the way old Tom was acting, he didn't think he was speaking gibberish; so the charm must have scrambled up the words on their way to Harry's ears. That settles it, then; he can't ask directions of anyone. He'll just have to figure this out on his own.  
  
He spent the better part of the morning wandering up and down the street, not seeming to look for anything in particular. Still, he constantly had an eye out for anything vaguely resembling a Chinese shoppe.  
  
No, he finally stopped himself. This isn't the way to fight off the charm. He went back to Gringotts and walked down one side of the road. The same familiar old shops: Flourish and Blotts, Ollivander's, Madam Malkin's Robes. He didn't feel anything twinging at his memory or his gaze. He had walked to the end of the road; a turn would take him into Knockturn Alley. So everything on that side was where it was supposed to be.  
  
Now for the other side of the road. He started back toward Gringotts, watching only the buildings on the other side of the road. At one point, he felt drowsy and wiped his eyes. Wait; he wasn't drowsy. Why did he do that?  
  
He looked back where he had come. The buildings were there, and he thought he'd accounted for them. Or had he?  
  
He went back and walked it again. Near the same point, he sneezed violently, and for no apparent reason. Again he checked himself, looking back over the buildings. Eeyops Owlery, an empty-looking storefront, Ollivander's…  
  
Wait; Ollivander's was back there, on the other side. He turned back toward Gringotts, but the street was so packed with shoppers that he'd have to walk almost all the way down to check it. He took a step toward Gringotts, then spun back around. The "other" Ollivander's was gone, and an owl post office stood where the deserted storefront was a minute ago.  
  
Harry couldn't help feeling satisfied with himself. I've got you now, he smiled.  
  
He walked back to the owl post office, closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind of all the thoughts that were tugging and pulling at it. As he did so, he realized that some of the strongest tugs were coming not from himself but from Diagon Alley. This was harder than fighting off a Confundus charm in class; more like when he fought the Imperius Curse. Finally, he felt something in his mind give a shove. He opened his eyes.  
  
The empty storefront was to his left; Grizentine's Notions was to his right, advertising in its window a special on Floo powder. Directly in front of him was a blank brick wall.  
  
This is it.  
  
Harry knew that there was no brick wall here; that this had to be the shop owned by Cho's family. All he had to do was take two steps forward, and he'd be inside. All he had to do was act as if this were just like the barrier at King's Cross; just walk through it. It's not really there, it's just an illusion created by the charm…  
  
But as much as Harry's conscious mind tried to convince him that he could simply walk through the wall, something was keeping his feet rooted to the spot. He couldn't take even one step and bump his nose against the wall, let alone the two steps to go through it. He tried and tried, but his legs would simply not obey his wishes. He knew that he could move; he knew that he should move; but he simply was not able to move.  
  
Until someone hit the back of his thighs with a broom and called out, "What you do!"  
  
Harry spun around, and looked down. There, standing about two feet shorter than he was, he saw a little wrinkled Chinese lady, her hair completely white, pulled back and held in place with an elaborate comb. She wore a lumpy grey sweater that covered up some kind of Chinese robes. Harry thought for an instant that she resembled a cross between Ron's mother Molly Weasley and a house-elf.  
  
Then he remembered seeing her, although at a distance, a few weeks ago. This was Granny Li, the mother of Cho's mother. She still brandished her broom like a cricket bat as she repeated, "What you do here!"  
  
"I'm, I'm sorry, but, I'm a, a friend of Cho…"  
  
"I know you!" she screeched. "You no live here! Where you live?"  
  
"I'm, I have a room at the Leaky Cauldron. It's over…"  
  
"I know where!" she barked. "Go back now. I see you there tomorrow!" She took another swing at Harry with the broom; he barely had time to jump clear and start back down toward the inn.  
  
He stopped after a moment, though, and turned back. The brick wall was still there, but Granny Li was nowhere to be seen.  
  
…to be continued… 


	4. Old Folks

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
by monkeymouse  
  
a/k/a Patrick Drazen  
  
2.4: Old Folks  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
By the time he got back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry's mind was more jumbled than before. If Granny Li chased him away from the shop, why did she say she was coming to see him? What had Cho told her family about him? She said they knew all about him, as did the rest of the wizarding world…  
  
No, Harry thought; everybody knows my story, but they don't know me. Only Cho knows who I am, what I'm all about.  
  
Back in his room, he reread Cho's letters one more time, before writing a reply. While he was reading, though, the mirror spoke up: "Are those from a ladyfriend, then? But it's none of my business, I suppose."  
  
"Well, it's not your business, but yes, they're from my girlfriend." Harry felt just a bit uncomfortable conversing with the mirror, since its voice was pitched right in the middle range between male and female. He knew it was silly to think of a mirror as being either, but he couldn't help feeling self-conscious, especially when undressing for bed.  
  
"Uses some rather strange birds, she does," the mirror went on.  
  
"She's in Japan right now; I don't know what they use for owls over there."  
  
"Ah, that explains a great deal," the mirror said. And, as if it could read Harry's mind, it didn't say anything else to him.  
  
Harry started his reply:  
  
"Cho my love,  
  
I got both of your letters yesterday, and I'm glad to hear you're doing all right. I hate it that we're half a world apart, but at least the school sounds interesting and you're having a good time.  
  
You've used some very different birds to send your letters so far. Do they use owls in Japan, then, or some other kind of bird?  
  
Everything seems pretty quiet back here; no word in the Daily Prophet of anything wrong. Maybe "they" got discouraged after what happened at Hogsmeade. No such luck; they're probably cooking up something even worse. Still, I think we can handle just about anything, when we're together.  
  
Speaking of Hogsmeade reminds me: how's the Quidditch over there? Have you had a chance to take a broom up and impress everyone yet?  
  
And how are your teachers? I hate to think that you go ten thousand miles from Hogwarts, only to find another Snape waiting for you!  
  
It feels good to be here, even when nothing is happening. I feel like I'm almost home. I only need you to make my world complete.  
  
Write as soon as you can. I love reading your letters, almost as much as I love you.  
  
Harry"  
  
He tied the scroll to Hedwig's leg, watched as she flew off over the roofs of Diagon Alley, then went down to supper.  
  
xxx  
  
At first Harry thought that Tom had brought a house-elf to work in the kitchen of the Leaky Cauldron. The food that night was varied, plentiful and very tasty. After two helpings of lamb stew and some curried chicken, he asked Tom if there was a special occasion.  
  
"Of course, ye wouldn't know, but it's my old dad's birthday today. I always do things up a bit special for him."  
  
Tom's "old dad"? Tom looked as old as anyone Harry had ever seen; what could his dad look like?  
  
He found out as the door was opened by a smiling old hag. She held it open while an old man walked in, moving with very short steps. He was just as bald and wrinkled and toothless as Tom, and also stooped at the shoulders. The other guests recognized him at once:  
  
"Hey, Old Tom."  
  
"Happy days, Old Tom!"  
  
"Goin' ter try for two centuries, then?"  
  
"Sure, and you'll outlive us all."  
  
It took about five minutes for Old Tom to step the few feet from the door to a rocking chair made ready for him by the hearth. He settled in, and the hag brought him a glass of firewhiskey. He took a sip, and everyone in the dining room went silent to listen to him.  
  
"Someone who gets to my time o' life, he knows what's important. We're all worryin' about the Dark Lord—and we should. He's a rough 'un. But I ain't gonna let worryin' 'bout him run my life. I didn't do 'er with Grindelwald, and I'm not gonna do 'er this time."  
  
Old Tom took another sip of firewhiskey. "And Grindelwald, he was nothin' Bad enough, I suppose, but you take Murgibrook. Before everybody's time now, o'course. All but mine. I remember. Worst Gryffindor to ever come out of Hogwarts."  
  
This made Harry prick his ears up. He had gotten so used to hearing about the heroes of his House that it seemed inconceivable that a Gryffindor would ever turn to evil.  
  
"Still don't know how it could happen," Old Tom shook his head. "People seem to think they can explain away anythin', but couldn't nobody explain what happened to Murgibrook. One day he's livin' with his neighbors peaceful as ye please, and the next—it was awful."  
  
He seemed to forget the people gathered around him, listening intently. "So when my son come along, I decides to take special care. That's when I moves my wife and son right here to Diagon Alley. Used to be nothin' here but some lowlife Muggles. Me an' my mate Foonie clears 'em out right enough. Scared easier, back then.  
  
"An' then the goblins come in. They was lookin' fer a good place to build the bank, and they liked what they seen here. Willin' to buy the whole street, but I says to 'em, says I, 'I'll sell, all right, but people have to be able to live here; not just have a shop. Ye got to remember one thing: ain't no pile of Galleons big enough to replace yer family.' I believes that then, an' still do."  
  
Old Tom's muttering became more disjointed, and soon his head slipped onto his chest. Harry was feeling tired as well, and went up to his room.  
  
"Well, was your plan successful?" the mirror asked.  
  
For a second, Harry forgot what the mirror was talking about. Then he remembered looking for the Changs, which had been driven from his mind for the moment. ""Well, sort of. I was trying to look up my girlfriend's family. One of them is meeting me here tomorrow."  
  
"I hope that's what you want."  
  
I hope so too, Harry thought. Then, he remembered. "Have you ever heard of someone named Murgibrook?"  
  
The mirror went quiet for a second. "Why do you ask?"  
  
"Just that the landlord's father was talking about him downstairs."  
  
"Ah. Well, he's old enough to remember, and Murgibrook was the kind of a man you can't forget. Haven't they talked about him at Hogwarts yet?"  
  
"No. I mean, not that I recall." Falling asleep during History of Magic seemed to be an established custom, and Harry no longer knew what he'd missed.  
  
"Well, I hesitate to be the one to tell you."  
  
"I wish you would. He was a Gryffindor, according to the old man."  
  
"I don't think that brought about what happened. Of course, it didn't stop it happening either."  
  
"So what did happen?"  
  
"Frederick Murgibrook came from a good family; they'd been in England a century after coming over from Holland, I think. Generations in Gryffindor, upstanding wizards. There was just no explanation."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"People started going missing. Wizards and Muggles both. Nobody could figure it out. And this was about the time of a Muggle maniac calling himself Jack the Ripper, so we were all in a right panic."  
  
"We?" Harry interrupted. "You were there?"  
  
"Yes, I was made about that time. Of course, I couldn't get out and about, and had to rely on others to get the news, but here's what I could put together about it afterwards.  
  
"A couple of the missing were last seen near the Murgibrook place. They owned a fair-sized estate where Hampstead is now. Nobody thought anything of it, until a third person disappeared near there. Finally, the Ministry sends a couple of Aurors around to see what they can see.  
  
"They knock on the door, and Frederick answers. He invites them in, very polite about it, saying he's in the middle of dinner and they should wait. Now, I wouldn't know about it, never having had a nose, but people say as how death has a smell all its own—or at least a body does that's been around a while. Well, they smell death as soon as they enter. They don't mention it because they don't want to frighten their man. But no sooner does Frederick go back into the dining room and close the door than they hear something loud. So they go to the dining room door and open it."  
  
The mirror paused. "First thing they do in the dining room is almost trip over Frederick's body. He'd spelled the head clean off his shoulders. But then they saw the rest. All of the missing people, their bodies hanging from the gas jets, stripped bare. So the Aurors could see where parts of the victims had been cut off. And there was still something cooking in the fireplace."  
  
Harry's mouth was so dry he could hardly say the next words: "Does anyone know why?"  
  
"Nobody knows to this day. It's easy enough just to say he'd gone mad, but that doesn't explain anything, and it doesn't warn you."  
  
"About what?"  
  
"That the same thing could happen to anyone, no matter who you are."  
  
Harry had a great deal of trouble getting to sleep that night.  
  
xxx  
  
There had been no answer overnight to his letter to Cho, so Harry went down to breakfast still a bit troubled about the story he'd heard yesterday. He placed his order, then looked around for a loose copy of the Daily Prophet. He could usually find one lying about, but not today.  
  
As he left the dining room to go back upstairs, he heard the voice: "Where you go?"  
  
He had looked around the dining room for the past two minutes for a copy of the Prophet, and he knew she wasn't there. But now, here was Granny Li, seated at a table as if she'd been waiting for him—and had been kept waiting a long time. She didn't seem too pleased, in any case.  
  
Harry swallowed and sat opposite the old woman just as Tom brought a pot of tea and two mugs. She immediately poured herself a cup, then set the pot down. Harry poured some tea for himself.  
  
While he was pouring, she suddenly spoke: "So, you Ha Li Po Te."  
  
It was so sudden, Harry almost dropped the pot. "Er yes."  
  
"You like Cho?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am, very much."  
  
"Why? What you like about Cho?"  
  
The question caught Harry off-guard. "I, well, there are so many thing. I don't know where to start."  
  
Granny Li, for the first time since he'd met her yesterday, smiled. "THAT good place to start."  
  
Harry couldn't even say why, but he smiled too. Maybe he sensed the worst was over. "Well, we met playing Quidditch. We're both Seekers, you know, but she's brilliant. She's a nice person; has a lot of friends. Very smart, and not just in school. And she's very pretty."  
  
Granny nodded. "For a Chinese, you mean."  
  
"What? No, I didn't mean that."  
  
"I meant it. She is Chinese. How you feel about that?"  
  
"Well, I…" Harry realized he hadn't ever let himself think about it—and he realized why. "It just isn't important to me. I know she's Chinese, but that's just who she is. It doesn't make a difference."  
  
Granny Li stared critically at him, then nodded. "Good answer. Better than Ced."  
  
Ced? "Do you mean Cedric Diggory? You knew him?"  
  
"I met him just before end of Tournament." She took a sip of tea, sat back in her chair, opened her mouth—and Harry felt goosebumps rise all over. The voice that came out of Granny Li's mouth WAS that of Cedric Diggory, killed over a year ago by Lord Voldemort.  
  
""Well, I, I reckon I like her well enough. She's a good little Quidditch player and all, and she's come to mean a lot to me these past few months, but I don't know that we'd, y'know, have any sort of long-term … I mean, my father's made it pretty clear that he wants me to start a proper family, as he puts it. And I can't just go against my own dad; you understand that, don't you?"  
  
Granny Li stopped, and looked knowingly at Harry.  
  
He was still speechless. "How did you do that?"  
  
She pointed at the scar on Harry's forehead. "That your magic. My memory, my voice; that MY magic." She went back to stirring her tea.  
  
"Did, did that really happen the way you remember it? I mean, I remember Cedric, too, and he didn't strike me as…" Harry let the sentence trail off as Granny Li fixed him with a cold stare.  
  
"I remember exactly. What you know about Ced?"  
  
"I know he dropped dead right in front of my feet. Is that enough for you?" Harry couldn't believe he was defending Cedric to her, but there he was. "We both grabbed the Cup at the same time, but it was really a Portkey. We got sent to a graveyard where Lord Voldemort was being reborn. And he—no, someone else killed Cedric, on orders from Lord Voldemort. He didn't deserve to die. And I don't think he deserves your talking about him like that."  
  
"You learning," she nodded.  
  
"Learning what?"  
  
"Dead, living; no difference. You still good friend to Ced."  
  
Harry didn't know how to reply to that.  
  
"This what I mean by saying Cho is Chinese," Granny went on. "We have ancestors; many ancestors. They die long time ago, but they still here." She took another sip of tea. "You don't mind that?"  
  
"I, I don't know. I never had a family, you know about my parents. I think, well, it'd be kind of nice to have someone to talk to about things…"  
  
As quick as lightning, Granny Li thwacked Harry on the side of his head with her knuckles. "You have someone; you always did. You have your ancestors, Cho has her ancestors. You don't mind both?"  
  
Harry's head was still smarting from her knuckles. "I don't really know my own ancestors that way; I can't say. Besides, sometimes you just need someone live to talk to, right?"  
  
The old lady stared at Harry, then chuckled, took another sip of tea, and leaned back in the chair. Then she opened her mouth, and out came the voice of Cho Chang:  
  
"Gran, something happened on the train to school. I haven't talked about it, but there's this boy I've liked for a long time now…" There was a pause, and even though Granny Li didn't smile, Cho's voice clearly did: "You always know everything. Yes, Gran, it's Ha Li Po Te. He never spoke to me before, and I was trying to work up the nerve to speak to him when Ced came along. Anyway, he finds me on the train, and I think he just wants to comfort me about Ced. But he tells me that, I still don't believe it, but he loves me. Gran, the past four months have been wonderful. And, yes, I know about Andrew and the Tans, but…" Another pause. "I gave him a Christmas present, Gran. I told him I wanted us to be together. Gran, the only present I want from you this year is to talk to my parents. Please tell them how happy I am."  
  
Harry tried to swallow the lump in his throat. "Thank you," he said, barely above a whisper.  
  
"No thank yet. You get Cho in trouble already."  
  
"What, at Hogsmeade? She wanted to go! We couldn't just let Death Eaters burn it down."  
  
Granny Li thought a second, then got out of her chair. "You be good boy one more year; then we see." She started out of the Leaky Cauldron, but stopped at the door and smiled at Harry. Then she was gone. 


	5. One Owl Too Many

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
by monkeymouse  
  
a/k/a Patrick Drazen  
  
2.5: One Owl Too Many  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
The month of July wore on, warmer than usual and slower than Harry had thought it would. Time, to tell the truth, was hanging heavy on his hands.  
  
In mid-month he received his Hogwarts letter for sixth year, listing all the courses he would take and the supplies he would need. Yet it was still a few days too early to go shopping for any of the supplies; Harry knew that because he'd tried. The proper books weren't in yet at Flourish & Blotts. He found that, even though he'd only gotten a few inches taller since the past year, his old school robes could no longer be let out enough to make up for it. He'd have to buy new robes, but they weren't in stock yet either.  
  
Still, Harry had a few things to look forward to. He knew his sixteenth birthday was coming up at the end of the month, and he knew he could count on a letter every day or two from Cho.  
  
And the letters always made him feel better—until the last week of July.  
  
It started out as a perfectly innocent question. Harry simply asked in one letter, because of what he had heard Granny Li say about Cedric Diggory (though without mentioning her): "How did you feel about Cedric, really? I mean, getting asked to the Ball was one thing, but after that…"  
  
"Dearest Harry,  
  
It's not quite true to say that, while I was dancing with him, I was thinking of you. I wish I could say it now, but… Put yourself in my place, Harry: he was tall, good-looking (almost all the girls thought so, anyway), an excellent Quidditch player (even if it was for a House that hardly ever won anything, it didn't get him down). I hadn't wanted him to ask me, but I felt honoured when he did. I felt the same way when he said he'd like to see more of me after the Ball.  
  
And then there came the Second Task. It was a shock to wake up and find I might have come close to drowning, but it was an even greater shock when I realized that, of all the people Cedric could have rescued—and, believe me, I knew a dozen girls who would have thrown themselves into the lake for the chance—he chose me. Some part of him said that I was the one he would surely miss, as the poem in the egg put it. When he told me that after the Task, as I sat wet and shivering and wrapped in a blanket, I—who had never had a boyfriend (Andrew definitely didn't count) before he came along—I must have fallen in love with him. I thought so at the time, anyway. Believe me, Harry, I know better now. Besides, the way the Task turned out, I supposed that you didn't exactly think of me that way."  
  
Cho may have been joking when she wrote that last line. Still, when Harry read it, he dropped her letter as if it were a tarantula.  
  
He rushed to the desk to send his reply:  
  
"YOU THOUGHT I WAS A POUFFE?! You honestly thought that I felt "that way" about Ron?! That's no truer then than it is now! Besides…"  
  
Harry had to stop his reply for a minute. He thought back to the Second Task. Maybe Cedric took it for granted that the Task was about something romantic. Viktor Krum had chosen to rescue Hermione, after all, and he seemed to be interested in her that way… No, that can't be right, he thought angrily, because in that case what she said about me and Ron would be true and it just isn't! There was only one other "couple" to compare to, and it was a bit of a stretch, but Harry saw it as his last chance to win the argument. "Besides, what does that make Fleur and Gabrielle, then? It can't ALL have been based on romance."  
  
There. Cho would have to concede the point now. He tied the note to Hedwig's leg and watched her fly away.  
  
Hedwig returned the next day with a short reply that didn't make Harry feel better at all:  
  
"Fleur and Gabrielle? Yes, they're sisters, but they're also French; they're also veela; they're also Beauxbatons; who knows what they get into."  
  
This was crazy. She seemed to cling to the Second-Task-as-Romance theory stronger than ever, if she could suggest THAT about the Delacour sisters. Harry hadn't wanted to do this, but she was leaving him no choice. He'd have to attack Cedric head-on; her memory of him, anyway.  
  
"I still can't believe you think about the Second Task that way. It certainly didn't work out that way for anyone, did it? Hermione hasn't shown much interest in Viktor that I've seen, and according to your granny Cedric wasn't even interested in you that way. He didn't think you stood any chance of a future together."  
  
While Harry was attaching the note to Hedwig, he felt a nagging suspicion that he'd written something that would come back to haunt him, but at the moment he couldn't think what it was. Nor could he think of it as he watched the owl fly yet again toward Japan, nor could he think of it the rest of that day.  
  
The next day, July 29, two letters arrived from Cho. The first was delivered by nightingale, one small piece of parchment with two words: "MY GRANNY?!"  
  
Harry felt a large collection of rocks gathering in the pit of his stomach. He suddenly remembered why that last letter of his probably wasn't such a good idea, and he knew exactly what Cho meant; she didn't need to go into any further detail. But she did. Thirty minutes later, while he was still pondering what to say in reply, Hedwig showed up with a slightly longer letter:  
  
"If I recall correctly, I asked you not to speak to Andrew about me during the social, and you spoke to him anyway. I have asked you—repeatedly—not to go trying to find my family in Diagon Alley, and you seem to have gone trying to find them anyway. I have just one question, Mister Harry Potter; do you intend to treat my words as if they meant NOTHING for THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, or is this just a fifth-year thing?"  
  
She'd caught him out. Harry knew that she had a reason to be angry. Still, he thought, there was no harm done. And Granny Li was the one who came to the Leaky Cauldron to speak to him.  
  
As he sat down to reply, though, he reread her letter. He heard the tone of anger behind it. He bristled at the unfairness of it all. Yes, he may have found the shop, but that's all he was looking for; it isn't as if he went inside or anything. And besides, Granny hit him with a broom. There was no reason to get all hot and huffy about it; no reason at all…  
  
Rather than admit he was wrong and move on from there, his temper got the better of him. He became defensive; then he became angry in turn; then, when he wrote his reply to Cho, he became rash  
  
"How well did you do for yourself in your fifth year, then? You go and get starry-eyed over some thick-as-a-brick pretty-boy who would've made your life so routine and so ordinary that you would have been miserable. If he would've had you in the first place! Maybe Voldemort actually did you a favour, and kept you from getting your heart broken by your 'hero.'"  
  
It was a mark of Harry's anger that he reread this letter several times before deciding it was all right to send back with Hedwig. It was a bit blunt, perhaps, but on the whole he didn't see anything wrong with it.  
  
The next day, July 30, Hedwig returned just before midnight with a scroll. Harry thought that she had an embarrassed look about her, as if she knew he wouldn't like the contents. He quickly unrolled it. The scroll was filled with Chinese characters, written very large, in very red ink, with very violent brush-strokes. Harry thought he could figure out the general meaning of the message, but Cho had provided a rough translation. At the bottom of the scroll, written in equally large red letters:  
  
"HARRY POTTER I HATE YOU!"  
  
At the moment he read those words, a clock tower somewhere near Diagon Alley chimed midnight. He had just turned sixteen, and the first thing he saw was Cho's letter in his hands.  
  
"So you hate Harry Potter?" Harry muttered to himself as he looked up into the mirror. He saw a skinny teenager with wild hair and fat-rimmed glasses, alone in a public-house room. No family, no friends, no girl; nobody in the world. "So do I."  
  
He fell back on the bed, burying his face in the pillow, ashamed to let even the mirror see him crying.  
  
"For what it's worth, laddie," the mirror said softly, "happy birthday".  
  
…to be continued… 


	6. Surprise

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
by monkeymouse  
  
a/k/a Patrick Drazen  
  
2.6: Surprise  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
When he lived with the Dursleys, Harry didn't celebrate his birthday, but he didn't dread it either. It was just another day of his Muggle relations trying—and failing—to beat and batter and otherwise drive the magic out of Harry Potter. It wasn't until Hagrid burst into his life on his eleventh birthday that Harry found it to be something to celebrate.  
  
But today he actually dreaded getting out of bed and going downstairs. Tom the proprietor of the Leaky Cauldron would probably make a fuss. And the way Harry felt, the last thing he wanted today was a fuss.  
  
As he tied his shoes, he saw Cho's last, angry letter, still on the floor where he'd dropped it. He kicked it under the dresser and went down to breakfast.  
  
It was still early enough that there were only two or three diners: elderly hags and wizards who were regulars at the Leaky Cauldron and were used to Harry by now. When Tom came to take his order, Harry told him, "I'm glad you didn't make a fuss."  
  
"Ah, well," Tom said, looking a little sheepish, "that's just 'cause ye're an early riser. I expect there'll be a bit of a fuss this evenin'."  
  
Harry went back to his room after breakfast to find a parcel sitting on his bed and an owl sitting on his windowsill. It was his first birthday present of the day, and it was from Hermione.  
  
"Hope this gets to you in time for your birthday, Harry! Many happy returns!  
  
We're in Athens now. It's named for the goddess Athena, whose favourite bird was the owl, so they're everywhere here! I found this statue in a market. It's a species of owl called a little owl--that's its name, honest!! It's supposed to watch over you and protect you. And even if it doesn't, you know you have a lot of friends who will.  
  
We've been traveling around so much that the mail is always behind, and I haven't seen an issue of the Daily Prophet in weeks! So we'll have a lot to catch up on. I'll be in Diagon Alley getting supplies on 30 August; if I don't see you then, we can catch up on the Express!  
  
Love, Hermione  
  
PS: I hope you're in better spirits."  
  
Harry looked at the clay statue with its brightly-painted yellow eyes. A little tag explained in two languages that the ancient Greeks thought that owls' eyes were lit from within by magic.  
  
"A lot of friends, eh?" Harry muttered, looking around his empty room again. "I wish one of them would turn up."  
  
At that moment, though, another owl turned up; an exhausted-looking screech owl carrying a small but very heavy parcel. As Harry was untying it, the brown paper parcel slipped to the floor and landed with a massive CLUNK. The owl immediately glided over to the basin for a drink and a bath.  
  
"You can't do that!" the mirror sputtered. The owl took no notice, as it splashed in the basin and sprayed water all over the mirror. "This is against regulations!"  
  
"Oh, have a heart," Harry said, looking up from the letter. "He's come all the way from Hogwarts. I promise I'll clean up."  
  
"Just don't make a habit of it," the mirror grumbled.  
  
Harry went back to the letter from Hagrid:  
  
"Happy Birthday, Harry Potter! I've been saying that for a lot of years now, and I hope I go on saying it lots more.  
  
I don't know if the Muggles still have you on a diet, but you're a growing boy--sorry, I should call you a young man, now you're sixteen and all. Anyway, I've sent along a sweetie for you. Don't you worry--it's from Honeyduke's. I know my cooking's not exactly up to scratch for most folk."  
  
Harry set down the letter, unwrapped the package and stared at a large, heavy, porous rock that looked like knobby black coral. He noticed a tag in the wrapping paper: Volcanic Fire Fudge. Not having the slightest idea what something with that name would taste like, he tried to twist off a piece. When he did, he found that the rock actually was only a thin, very hard shell around a thick, bright red crème filling. It smelled like strawberries and cinnamon. He dipped a fingertip into the filling and put a drop on the tip of his tongue.  
  
The filling tasted like strawberries, cinnamon and tabasco sauce. Of course; anyone who feels motherly about dragons would consider THIS a "sweetie." Harry had to drink two glasses of water in quick succession before he could even pick up Hagrid's letter again.  
  
"There's lots I could talk about, but I won't--except to tell you that you'll be very pleased by our new Dark Arts teacher; I'd say we finally got the right man for the job. But you'll find out, I'm sure.  
  
See you in September  
  
Professor Rubeus Hagrid"  
  
Harry smiled at Hagrid calling himself Professor. He indeed taught Care of Magical Creatures, even though he never graduated from Hogwarts. Being made Gamekeeper was a thrill for Hagrid all by itself; when he was made a teacher, Hagrid could hardly stand the joy.  
  
No sooner had Harry finished reading Hagrid's letter when a third owl arrived. This one was small; more like a pigeon than a proper owl. It had a newspaper clipping tied to its leg. Harry opened it up. It was an article from the Daily Prophet, dated a week ago, an article that he hadn't seen:  
  
"Minister Avoids Assassination Attempt  
  
Deranged Muggle Apprehended  
  
by E. Shrdlu  
  
Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge narrowly escaped death on Friday last when he was attacked shortly after Apparating outside Paris, France. His trip had been deliberately kept a secret, yet the assailant knew exactly when and where he would Apparate.  
  
"It's a shocking breach of security," said Amos Diggory, spokesperson for the Ministry in Fudge's absence. "It could only have been an inside leak. It pains me to say this, but this will mean an internal investigation."  
  
Fudge and his entourage has just Apparated behind a hangar at DeGaulle Airport when a Muggle member of the ground crew, carrying a large tool called a "wrench", ran toward Fudge, holding the "wrench" as if to hit the Minister in the head.  
  
Only the chance intervention of a large black dog, which bit the Muggle's leg and forced him to stop, saved the Minister's life. The dog ran away after biting the Muggle.  
  
Interrogation of the Muggle showed that he did not remember the attack. "Sounds like the Imperius Curse to me," Diggory said."  
  
Under the article was written:  
  
"Been a little too busy to shop; I'll get you a proper gift soon. Happy birthday  
  
Snuffles"  
  
Then the fourth owl landed on the windowsill. It was a muscular barn own whose parcel was small and seemed lightweight; this owl would have been more at home with the Volcanic Fire Fudge.  
  
Harry opened the letter:  
  
"Happy Birthday Harry!  
  
Well, we're halfway through the Weasley Grand Tour. Right now we're up in the Lake District, near the Isle of Man. And it is SO BORING! The only fun I have is getting together with Fred and George to torment Percy. I don't care if it is his honeymoon; he keeps lording it over the rest of us, acting like he's our dad. I don't know what Penelope sees in him!  
  
She's all right, actually, 'cause she doesn't think she's still Best Girl at Hogwarts. She's tried to act like a big sister, and she's done a good job of it so far. Sometimes I really feel guilty that she has to suffer along with Percy; but Percy the Pill deserves everything we can give him. Last night we had him wandering around the marshes following grindylows until three in the morning. He was dead exhausted when he finally found the inn; Mum had to shoo the rest of us out of the inn this morning so "they could have their privacy". Much good may it do Percy; the twins put Peppermint Dozing Drops (their latest invention) in with Penelope's breath mints. She won't wake up until midnight. I think we've fixed it so Percy and Penelope have only been able to "do the dirty deed" four times in a fortnight. Fred still thinks we can do better than that.  
  
Anyway, here's some things I picked up on the road. We're supposed to be back in the Burrow on the 25th, after our last stop (Dover). I'll probably see you in Diagon Alley on the 26th.  
  
Don't do anything I wouldn't do (or Percy wants to do),  
  
Ron  
  
PS: What do you think of the attack on Fudge? Percy wanted to rush right back to the office; Penelope had quite a few words for him on that subject. I think I'm going to like having her around after all!"  
  
Harry read this letter through twice more, letting honeymoon images of Penelope and Percy flow through his thoughts and raise a bulge in his trousers. It was a pleasurable sensation, even if he couldn't act on it.  
  
Harry had picked up an informal education in the past year, as well as his formal one. He went to classes, but he also used his Cloak of Invisibility now and again to listen in on some of the "bull sessions" among the older boys. He had to pick up a lot of things on the fly, and couldn't stop the discussion to ask questions, but he eventually learned as much as a teenaged boy needed to learn.  
  
One thing he learned was that sometimes there was no help for it; a guy simply had to wank off now and again. But as long as the lights were out and he was under the covers, it was no problem. If it was during the day, the mirror would start talking to him; that was bad enough, but the mirror was just so--solicitous: "Go along, dearie, don't mind me"; "I understand perfectly; you're of that age"; "Bless me, the things I've seen in this very room; you have no idea". Harry didn't like the idea of becoming part of the mirror's running commentary for some future guest, so he had to hold off until it could neither see nor say anything.  
  
He took a look at Ron's gifts: a Cumberland sausage, a jar of sweet mustard, and a letter opener/knife with a handle of ivory or bone--Harry couldn't be sure which--intricately carved with interwoven serpents and vines; art from the time before the Romans invaded. This'll come in handy for Potions, for Herbology . . . and for a bite to eat on the train, he thought. He resisted the temptation to take a taste of the sausage, and set everything up on the dresser next to the door.  
  
"You've done well for yourself, haven't you, Harry," the mirror asked.  
  
Harry thought for a second, then said softly, "I'm hoping for one more present."  
  
Harry sat in his room for an hour, waiting for one more present. Then another hour.  
  
At half past eleven, he gave it up, shoved some money (Muggle and wizarding) into his pockets and walked out.  
  
Harry wasn't at all familiar with London. The few places he did know were simply blurs on the way to King's Cross or Diagon Alley. Not knowing what else to do, he went to the railway station and sat on a bench near Gate Nine and three-quarters. He had a notion—and he knew it was foolish—that he might see someone he knew either coming or going. Who am I fooling, he thought; there's only one person I want to see today, and she's nowhere near here…  
  
"Afternoon, mate!"  
  
Someone had sat down next to Harry on the bench and was addressing him. Harry turned away.  
  
"You look like you could use some cheerin' up. Come round to my club." The man pushed a piece of paper in front of Harry's face. "I'll even stand you a free drink, on account it's your birthday."  
  
This made Harry turn and look. The fellow next to him had olive coloured skin, heavily-oiled black hair, and a black mustache that curled up at the ends. He looked to be about twenty-five years old.  
  
"I suppose you saw the…" Harry said gloomily, gesturing toward his forehead.  
  
"Yeh, well, we all know about that. Somethin' got you down, then?"  
  
"Just … got nowhere to go."  
  
"Well, you have now!" He stuck his hand out for Harry to shake. "Zafar Ajneeri's the name. I run a little club for us down in Brixton. We can hop on the Pink One and be there in half a tick."  
  
"The what?"  
  
"Well, they said you lived with Muggles, but I guess you didn't get out much."  
  
"No, I didn't, but what's this Pink One?"  
  
For answer, Zafar pointed to the map of the London Underground system. Harry had only taken the Underground once or twice in his life, but he had to smile at himself. Zafar had meant the rail line that was pink on the map: the Victoria line, which ended in the south at Brixton.  
  
Harry had to think a few seconds. The article about the attack on Fudge made him a bit nervous, especially about traveling to a strange part of London, and especially with someone he'd only just met. Still, he didn't have much else to look forward to, this was another wizard, and–if it came to that–he was pretty sure he could take care of himself. "You're on. Lead the way."  
  
They rode the London Transport car with Zafar giving a running commentary about the history of the stops along the way. Harry was thoroughly confused, but was at least glad the talk wasn't about him. He certainly didn't feel like being the center of attention.  
  
When they reached the end of the line in Brixton, they came out of the station and right into a spectacle Harry had never seen before. The open- air market was a marvelous riot of fruit and vegetables. Their sight and scent filled the air, competing with the thickly accented voices and dark skins—ranging from tan to coal-black—of the food vendors. For Harry, this was as magical as anything he'd seen in Hogwarts.  
  
"Well, you seem quite comfy here," Zafar said. "Takes some white folks funny, though, their first time."  
  
Harry didn't even consider comparing his color to anyone else's. "But this place is so fantastic! I've never seen anything like it!"  
  
"And I guarantee you won't, unless you cross the equator."  
  
"Is your club around here, then?"  
  
"Right round the corner." Zafar led Harry to a black-painted storefront. A hand-painted sign over the door read: MoshiMoshi,  
  
"That's Japanese for 'Ello 'Ello", Zafar explained as he opened the door.  
  
It was like stepping into another reality. Gone was the sun and earthy smell of the market. In the club the lights were artificial, targeted on the dance floor or tables along the wall. The air was artificially chilled and smelled of curry and fast food. And the music in the background would cut in for a few seconds, then cut out again, as a deejay in the booth near the front door listened to bits of a stack of recordings.  
  
"Is it a Japanese club, then?"  
  
"Started out that way, but now my deejays play whatever's on: chill, trance, techno, Bollywood, J-pop. Speaking of which, I'm expecting a shipment from Japan later today."  
  
"A shipment?"  
  
"Yeh, records, videos, things like that. I've got this group of friends; one or two times a month, they come to the club by Portkey. Now, I trust you won't breath a word about that, 'cause it ain't strictly legal. I mean, nothing goes through Customs or anythin'."  
  
"HARRY!"  
  
Harry's eyes were still adjusting to the darkness of the club after the bright sunshine and colors of the open air market. But he recognized the voice as Parvati Patil's. He and Zafar went over to a large table in the corner of the club. Parvati was there with her twin sister Padma and Lavender Brown; also there were three young dark-skinned men. One of them rose and grabbed Harry's hand, shaking it vigorously.  
  
"Please accept our best wishes on your birthday, Mister Potter. I am Jugdesh Banerji, and these are my cousins Mithula and Pramansa Karamchand. We are students at Ganesha Academy near Dharmsala, and we are here on vacation."  
  
"Well, er, I hope you like it."  
  
"I'll tell you what I don't like, Zafar," Parvati spoke up. "We're going to have to go round the corner to Khan's for some curry. When are you going to put in a proper kitchenette?"  
  
"When you start bringing in more guests, my lovely, and buying more drinks. Can't remodel without profits, you know."  
  
"You know better than that," Padma joined in. "They have these new inventions called wands; maybe you've heard of them?"  
  
"Not only have I heard of 'em, dear heart, I've tried them out. And even magical curry just isn't as magical as Khan's kitchen."  
  
"Why not come with us, Harry?" Padma offered. "It'll be our treat, for your birthday."  
  
"I only just got here. You go on ahead, I'll try to catch up."  
  
With another round of handshakes, hugs and promises by Harry to come to Ganesha Academy at the first opportunity, the others left the club, while Zafar went to the sound booth to wait for the Japanese courier.  
  
Harry found a small table near the back of the club. He sat down, closed his eyes and leaned back. No sooner did he sit down than a waitress brought him a glass of iced pumpkin-flavored soda pop. He found he was getting a headache from the flashing lights and food smells; he closed his eyes. Thus he heard, rather than saw, someone Port into the club.  
  
Then came Zafar's voice: "Hold on; you ain't Yoshi!"  
  
Then, a girl's delicate laughter: "Sorry, my parents did the best they could."  
  
That laugh! That voice!  
  
"The truth is, Yoshiko has a bit of a cold, so I offered to come in her place…"  
  
Harry jumped up suddenly, spilling his drink as he looked around the room. There: by the sound booth.  
  
"CHO!!"  
  
"HARRY?!"  
  
…to be continued…  
  
Note: I've tried to keep the facts as accurate as possible; as far as I know, Brixton is predominantly Black/Third World, is famous for its open- air market (as well as its progressive club scene) and contains a famous curry restaurant named Khan's. Dharmsala, India, in the foothills of the Himalayas, is home to Tibet's exiled Dalai Lama. Ganesha is the name of the Indian god with the head of an elephant: the patron saint of artists and musicians. 


	7. Happy Returns

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
by monkeymouse  
  
a/k/a Patrick Drazen  
  
2.7: Happy Returns  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
Harry started across the dance floor. His first step, though, was on an ice cube. His legs went out from under him, and he fell on his face, his glasses skittering across the floor.  
  
"Harry!!"  
  
He may have grown a few inches in the past year, but he still desperately needed his glasses. He saw them only as a black lump on the floor ahead. He crawled toward them like a soldier under fire and reached out for them.  
  
But Cho was there already, and he grabbed Cho's hand.  
  
He looked up into her eyes, where he saw--not the hatred that he was afraid of, but concern, and sadness, and even—he recognized it because he knew it all too well—a little fear.  
  
In that instant, Harry Potter finally understood:  
  
She's afraid of me. What have I done?  
  
He tried to talk to her, but Cho also spoke. They said the same words at the same time:  
  
"I'm so sorry."  
  
Anyone who saw them holding each other in the middle of the dance floor would have thought they were separated for years instead of weeks. Ten minutes later, it was as if the argument never happened, as they sat at a table drinking pumpkin sodas and laughing at the story of Dudley and the "dragon egg". From there, they moved on to life at Cho's school.  
  
"They seem to be mad for clubs over there. All the students belong to one club or more at the school. Frankly, I don't know how they find the time. The classes are a bit harder than Hogwarts, if anything.  
  
"Anyway, I hadn't been there a week when I got invited to a club meeting. They insisted I pay them a visit at the very least."  
  
"What club was it?"  
  
"Don't get a swelled head, but it was the Haripota Club."  
  
Harry just smiled and took a drink of his soda. "D'you think that one day I just might get away from all this "Boy Who Lived" nonsense?"  
  
"It's not nonsense to everyone, Harry. That's what I understood at the meeting. It was all girls in this club; mostly from the upper grades, and they were desperate for information about you. I mean, they knew you were in Hogwarts and all of that, so they asked me just everything else about you--things that wouldn't get into the Daily Prophet. They even wanted to know your blood type; I have no idea why. But when they asked me if you had a girlfriend, I'm afraid I just sort of smiled. Well, they figured out what THAT meant in a hurry, and they started hitting me with even more questions."  
  
"Am I going to like what you answered?"  
  
"I didn't describe what it's like when we kiss--although they asked THAT. But they'd taken all that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote about you as absolutely true, so they wanted me to sort it out."  
  
"Speaking of rubbish, Cho, that's what I've felt like since I got your letter. I'm sorry about what I wrote."  
  
"Oh please burn it. Tear it up, get rid of it. I was sorry the minute after I wrote that."  
  
"Don't say that; you had a right to get mad. Believe me, Cho, it's not that I don't listen or don't take you seriously. I guess I was just afraid."  
  
"Of me?'  
  
"Of losing you."  
  
"That'll never happen; you ought to know better."  
  
"I should, but … I just got this stupid idea that I couldn't let anyone else make you happy. That was supposed to be my job. So I got worried about Andrew, about your family–even about Cedric."  
  
"Well, what do you think would happen to you if I felt like that? What if I didn't want to share you with the whole wizarding world? I'd have to keep you under lock and key, the way the Muggles used to."  
  
Harry nodded, looking down at the table, unable for the moment to meet Cho's eyes. "Being afraid of your memories of Cedric, though; I'm turning into a right little bully, aren't I? Maybe I should transfer over to Slytherin."  
  
"Don't you dare," Cho smiled. "Unless you think we'll need to have this little talk all over again."  
  
"That's the last thing I want." Harry chuckled. "It's funny, though. You got over Cedric before I did."  
  
It was Cho now who stared down at her drink and stirred the ice. When she finally spoke, it was hesitantly. "Harry, there's a lot about Cedric that nobody knows. I didn't know how to tell you, because I wasn't sure you'd understand."  
  
"Understand what?"  
  
"Have you ever met Cedric's father?"  
  
Harry nodded. He'd met Amos Diggory at the World Quidditch Cup, and again just before the Third Task. He was proud of his son being a Champion, but he seemed a little too eager to rub Harry's nose in it. In fact, he was still crowing about Hufflepuff beating Gryffindor in a Quidditch match. All in order to show that his son was better than the great Harry Potter.  
  
Cho went on: "Well, I met him too, that last day. Cedric insisted. He introduced me as his girlfriend, told his father he wanted me to..." Cho had to stop for a second. "His father was … civil, to my face. I'll give him that much credit. And after I met his parents, I went on about my business.  
  
"Then, about an hour later, Cedric came looking for me. I saw in his face that something had gone very wrong. His father … His father told him, in so many words, that he couldn't see me anymore. That he had to get "a proper girl"–one who wasn't Chinese."  
  
Harry had heard about this from Granny Li, but still didn't want to believe it–until he saw Cho's face now. She looked like she wanted to throw something.  
  
"So, so Cedric didn't want to stand up to his father for you?"  
  
Cho pounded the table in frustration. "Am I the only one who ever understood Cedric? He was upset that his father didn't want us to be together just because I'm not white. But it really didn't cross his mind at first to defy him. He and I argued about it just before the Third Task. And when I finally got him to see it was possible, he didn't know how to begin to stand up to his father. And I … I told him I'd given up on him, if he couldn't figure out for himself how to love me. I've never told this to anyone else, Harry, but that's the real reason I cried so much after he died. Because he'd been killed, of course, but also because we'd parted on such harsh terms. I felt terrible because I never had the chance to make it up to him."  
  
"Did he…do you know if he talked to anyone else about this?"  
  
"I don't know. I don't think so. Did he speak to you at all during the Third Task?"  
  
"Just a bit, and never about you."  
  
Cho nodded as if she'd expected that answer. "He probably didn't want anyone else telling him that he should defy his father. It was hard enough hearing it from me."  
  
They were both quiet for the next few minutes, staring down at their drinks. Finally, Harry pushed his glasses up to his forehead and wiped his eyes. "Well, this has been an interesting birthday."  
  
Cho smiled a bit sadly. "Finding out that I'm in love with a bully."  
  
"And that I'm in love with a crusader."  
  
"You think we deserve each other, then?"  
  
Harry took Cho's hand. "I think we should be sentenced to a lifetime together."  
  
"Sounds fair." Cho's eyes slowly narrowed, then squeezed shut. Harry realized that she was trying to suppress a yawn. "Sorry," Cho smiled that pretty smile of hers; "crossing all those time zones, I must have a touch of Port lag."  
  
"What Portkey did you use, then?"  
  
"The kitten." She pointed toward the sound booth, where Harry saw a stuffed animal: a white kitten easily a foot tall, with a ribbon on its head.  
  
"I would have thought sixth years had grown out of stuffed toys."  
  
"Then you've obviously never been in a sixth year girls' dormitory."  
  
"Is that an invitation, then?" he smiled, raising an eyebrow.  
  
Chop smiled back. "I don't recommend it. It's—let me think—eight hours difference, so if you tried Porting in right now you'd be there after midnight. The girls would probably hex you first and ask questions later."  
  
"Are you coming back, then?"  
  
"Well, Yoshiko usually comes here every other week, so next would be mid- August—no, cancel that. It'll be the middle of the Summer Festival there, and there's too many things to do. I've already volunteered to help out several clubs."  
  
"After that?"  
  
"Four weeks…that would be the thirty-first."  
  
"The day before I go back to Hogwarts?"  
  
"That'll be perfect. We can spend the entire day together."  
  
"I'd love that."  
  
"I just wish I knew you were going to be here today; I could have brought you something."  
  
"You did."  
  
"Harry, you can be so sweet sometimes." They exchanged a deep, lingering kiss. "Most times."  
  
"And for the rest?"  
  
"Well, we can work on that," she laughed. Cho walked over to the deejay's booth. "Happy birthday, Harry Potter!" She took hold of the Hello Kitty…and was gone in an instant.  
  
Harry looked at his watch; the afternoon was almost gone. He had to get back to the Leaky Cauldron. But, for the first time that day, he felt up for whatever kind of birthday celebration Tom had in store.  
  
…to be continued…  
  
NOTE: In this chapter, I ended up stealing a bit from myself. Amos Diggory's reaction to Cho Chang is based on part of another fic, "Firefly and Butterfly", a little bit of slash between Cho and Ginny Weasley… 


	8. In the Family

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
by monkeymouse  
  
a/k/a Patrick Drazen  
  
2.8: In the Family  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: sexual content ahead  
  
August brought a mix of rain and sun, gloomy and muggy days—but it was one of the happiest months in Harry Potter's young life.  
  
Sixteen years old now, he was indeed the young man Hagrid—among others—called him. More and more, the older people in Diagon Alley pointed out to Harry how much he resembled his father. But Harry didn't really realize the truth of it until he went to Madam Malkin's one day to get his new robes.  
  
"Thought I was seein' a ghost," the witch said as she pinned up his hems. When Harry stepped down from the stool and looked at himself in the full- length mirror, wearing his new robes, he couldn't stop himself from gasping. It was one thing to see his face in the mirror at the Leaky Cauldron, day after day. After a while it was as if he didn't really see it; the wild hair, the black-rimmed glasses. He just sort of looked past himself in the mirror, keeping a remembered image of himself in mind.  
  
That younger image was gone now. Hardly anything was the same—except the scar.  
  
So he kept on, preparing for his sixth year at Hogwarts, sending letters almost daily to Cho and treasuring hers. Finally, it was August 27; five days to go.  
  
Minutes after getting back to his room after lunch that day, there was a brisk pounding on the door: "OI HARRY!"  
  
Harry practically leaped to the door to open it. There was Ron, not at all changed from when he'd seen him last, on the Express, holding a stack of textbooks.  
  
"How was the trip, then?"  
  
"It had its points," Ron said, mimicking Draco Malfoy as he sauntered into the room, ""but wizards of OUR class deserve ever so much better." He cut his performance short when he saw the sausage, mustard and knife still on the dresser with the other gifts. He looked positively hurt. "Didn't you like it?"  
  
""It's great, you twit," Harry said, cuffing Ron lightly on the arm. "Just saving it for the train, is all."  
  
Ron threw his books on the bed and looked at the gifts, including the Volcanic Fire Fudge. He held it toward Harry as if asking to take a taste. "Go ahead if you want to burn your back teeth out. I'm not going near that again."  
  
"You reckon there's some way we can feed it to Draco?"  
  
Harry almost choked with laughter at that suggestion. Among the gifts was a rolled-up scroll. Ron looked inside, and whistled when he saw Cho's angry message. "She got the last word in, then?"  
  
"No," Harry smiled, "that got sorted out."  
  
"Then why hang onto this?"  
  
"To remind myself."  
  
"What, remind yourself that she hated you?"  
  
"No, that she hated me because I was the stupidest bugger in Diagon Alley."  
  
"Well, that sounds interesting. You gonna tell me about it?"  
  
"Yeh, but let's talk downstairs. We can get something to drink."  
  
They went down to the Leaky Cauldron, where Tom poured them two tall glasses of his special iced cider ("with jest a touch o' pumpkin in it, to smooth 'er out a bit"). Ron drank his as Harry told Ron everything that had happened since his return to Privet Drive.  
  
"And you let mum think you were still in Muggle prison. You should have heard her fret about you: 'I hope he's all right', 'I hope he's eating proper', 'I hope they let him get some sunshine once in a while.'" Harry laughed at Ron's impression of Molly Weasley. Then Ron's face clouded over a little. "You know about Fudge, though, right?"  
  
"Yeh, Sirius sent me the clipping. Do you believe that: he saves Fudge's life, and he's still a hunted criminal."  
  
"Well, he couldn't exactly jump up and yell 'Surprise,' could he?"  
  
"It's just not fair."  
  
"Well neither is this." Ron dropped his voice. "Dad figures the Death Eaters are getting ready to make their move."  
  
"What was that with Fudge, then, or Hogsmeade? And why was Fudge in France, d'you know?"  
  
"Well, that was because of Hagrid, believe it or not."  
  
"Get off!"  
  
"Honestly! He'd gone over to Beauxbatons, and talked to Olympe, and they both went out and talked to the last of the giants. And guess what? They made an agreement with the Ministry; Fudge was going there to finalize it. They won't throw in with the Death Eaters!"  
  
Harry clinked his glass against Ron's and took another drink of cider. "Good news!"  
  
"And that's not all. I heard Dad and Percy tell Mum the other night that there have been six Death Eater attacks since Hogsmeade, but they got beaten back every time."  
  
"Six? I don't remember anything in the Prophet like that."  
  
"Never made it into the paper. Percy was boasting about a 'top-flight security operation' against the Death Eaters. Maybe we can catch their owls; I dunno. Anyway, nothing's going right for them. Not since the Tournament, anyway."  
  
Harry nodded, knowing why Ron was right but unable to tell him. After the Tournament Harry had found out that, as they suspected, Severus Snape had at one time been a Death Eater. Now, however, he was acting the double- agent for Dumbledore, pretending to still be loyal to Lord Voldemort while all along working against him. Still, he knew he couldn't tell anyone about this–not even Ron.  
  
"And Harry," Ron went on, more hesitantly, "they, er, said something else."  
  
"What?"  
  
"That you're one of their targets."  
  
"Are you Madam Trelawney now?" Harry snorted. "I could have figured that out."  
  
"I don't mean eventually or someday. I heard them say that You-Know-Who means to try for you before you get back to Hogwarts."  
  
Harry hadn't considered this possibility. "You mean here, in Diagon Alley?"  
  
"Nah, not likely. They'd have to be really desperate to try that."  
  
"Where, then? King's Cross? Or–what about the Dursleys?" For the first time in his life, Harry looked worried about what might happen to his Muggle family.  
  
"Dad said exactly that, so he sent a couple of owls to Dumbledore."  
  
"But he works at the Ministry. Why go to Dumbledore?"  
  
"Well, Percy works there and all, but Dad says that these days the Ministry is a joke. Fudge is just going through the motions; doesn't seem to know what's happening, even though someone almost brained him in Paris."  
  
"Well, what did Dumbledore say?"  
  
"Said my Dad should know about the protections around Privet Drive. Do you know what they mean, because I can't figure it." Harry shook his head. "And that there'd be Aurors on the platform when it's time to go back. No Dementors this time; highly-trained Aurors who can handle anything. Just watch out for everything between now and then."  
  
"Of course," Harry nodded. "Can we talk about something else now?"  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Well, for starters, Percy and Penelope."  
  
Ron took a quick look around to be sure nobody could hear. Then he dropped his voice to a near-whisper. "Harry, I seen it."  
  
"It?"  
  
"The two of 'em."  
  
"Were they…"  
  
"Oh yeh," Ron nodded.  
  
"Don't just sit there; details!"  
  
Ron took another look around. "We were up in Manchester. Fred and George had messed with the reservations, so the rooms we were supposed to have weren't there. We had to stay at this Muggle bed-and-breakfast. And the food wasn't half-bad."  
  
"But…"  
  
"The rooms in a wizarding hotel have their own privacy spells usually. These didn't. And their room had an adjoining bath, with a door that didn't close properly."  
  
"So…"  
  
"So I hid in the bath and … I saw it."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Everything."  
  
"Will you just tell it properly?" Harry gave Ron a shove, although he was laughing as he said it.  
  
"First of all, he kissed her, and I mean EVERYWHERE!"  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Down to her feet."  
  
Harry looked puzzled. "She liked that, then?"  
  
"She sure seemed to. Percy took his own sweet time licking her all over like a cat, before the actual shagging began."  
  
"You saw that too?!"  
  
"Beginning to end."  
  
"And?"  
  
Ron shrugged. "Percy seemed to be doing it right; she didn't have any complaints."  
  
"And what did she look like?"  
  
Ron's face suddenly clouded over. "All right."  
  
"What's the matter? You changed just now."  
  
"Well, it was what happened the day after I watched 'em. I couldn't even look at them the next morning, at breakfast. I mean, I kept seeing them starkers, like they were the night before. So I don't talk to them or look at them or anything. Well, around lunchtime, Penelope pulls me aside.  
  
"'Ron,' she says, all serious, 'you've been kind of distant toward me, and I think I know why. It's because you still think of me as a Hogwarts Prefect, instead of your brother's wife.' Well, you can see why she wasn't Sorted into Ravenclaw. I don't say anything, though. 'I don't want you to think badly of me,' she goes on, 'so if there's ever anything I've done that you don't like, please come to me and tell me.'  
  
"Well, part of me wants to just up and tell her, 'Nah, what you were doing last night was fine; keep up the good work!' But then I see the look on her face. She was all sad and gentle, like what I was thinking really mattered to her. And I just, just sort of nodded. And she kissed me on the cheek."  
  
Ron started blushing. Harry was having a hard time not laughing.  
  
"You got something to say?!" Ron barked at him.  
  
"Nothing, nothing at all!" Harry grinned.  
  
"Don't tell me you haven't thought about shagging Cho!"  
  
"You want the truth?" Harry leaned in, whispering.  
  
Ron leaned in too. "Of course."  
  
Harry grinned again. "Twice a day and three times on Sundays."  
  
"When do you think you'll get a chance?"  
  
"Not anytime soon," he sighed. "She'll be back for a visit in a few days. There's just no place private, though. Besides…"  
  
"Yeh?"  
  
"I … I wouldn't know how to ask." Now it was Harry's turn to blush.  
  
"So that's how it is," Ron nodded his head. "Next time you see Cho, you'd better warn her."  
  
"Of what?"  
  
"Of getting a Weasley sweater this Christmas."  
  
"Wait. Your Mum…"  
  
"Thinks you two were meant to be. I told her what last year was like, and she's practically booked a hall for the wedding."  
  
"A little sudden, isn't it?"  
  
"Harry, she's all but adopted you. You're an honorary Weasley, and you might as well get used to it." He suddenly dropped his voice again. "And as an honorary member of the family, I've got something for you. But it's got to be back up in the room."  
  
A minute later, they were back up in Harry's room, standing in a corner where the mirror couldn't overhear them.  
  
"Okay, Ron, what's this all about."  
  
Ron pulled a parchment out of his robes. It looked like an old map of the Cornish coast. Until Ron drew his wand twice across it right-to-left and said, "Divestus."  
  
The map faded, to be replaced by a picture of two witches. They were attractive, they were naked, and they were doing interesting things with carrots.  
  
Harry's only reaction–only spoken reaction–was "Woh!"  
  
"Whaddya think?" Ron asked, although he knew full well what Harry thought. "The twins picked up dozens of these from a shop in Knockturn Alley that was going out of business. Mum would have ten kinds of fits if she ever saw this, but it's one of their best sellers."  
  
"I, I can see why," Harry said. "This has to be breaking some wizard law or other, though."  
  
"Only about a dozen," Ron smiled, as he tapped the scroll and said, "Carto". The picture faded and the map reappeared. "The twins sell 'em for five Galleons."  
  
"I'd pay twice that," Harry grinned.  
  
Ron glanced out the window. "It's getting late, I've gotta Floo back home soon. I was supposed to buy my books, but I came up about five Galleons short."  
  
"Let me then," Harry said, reaching for his leather coin pouch. But Ron stopped him.  
  
"Look, Harry, I know we're friends an all, but I can't just take money from you like that."  
  
Harry thought for a second. "How about this, then. I said I'd pay twice what the map is worth, and I'll stand by that. Here's ten Galleons. Give five to the twins, tell 'em you sold the map, and buy what you need with the rest."  
  
Ron grinned. "Frankly, I was hoping you'd say that–only I wasn't going to give anything to the twins. Be sure to hide that well." Ron gathered up his purchases and started out of the room, but stopped at the door. "You have anything on for tomorrow?"  
  
"Not really, except for studying maps. Come on by."  
  
"You're on."  
  
…to be continued… 


	9. Rule, Brittania!

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
by monkeymouse  
  
a/k/a Patrick Drazen  
  
2.9: Rule, Brittania!  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
Harry woke up very early on August 28, with the sun streaming through his window. Hedwig was sitting on the sill; she'd landed sometime during the night with Cho's latest. He beckoned Hedwig with one hand and reached for his glasses on the bedside table with the other.  
  
Hedwig landed on Harry's chest; he found her weight reassuring. "Go get a rest, then," he said softly to her, as he untied the message. Hedwig seemed to nod to him as she lifted up and flew back out the window.  
  
As he lay in bed, he said a single word: "luxurious." He felt as if he was living the meaning of that word. Breakfast would be waiting for him when he got out of bed; Ron would be by later; and he had Cho's latest letter to keep him company until then:  
  
"Konnichiwa! Daisuki! ("Hello" and "I love you!")  
  
Classes are back in full session now and, frankly, I think everyone's a bit relieved. The Summer Festival was wonderful, but there was so much to do that we're all a bit glad it's over and we can just get back to Potions and Charms—and Quidditch!  
  
You asked about the Quidditch here a while ago. Because of the wind and the snow here even in the summer, you can't play a proper game of Quidditch outdoors; some days you can barely walk, never mind flying! So KMG has its Quidditch arena in the mouth of an extinct volcano! It's out of the weather, but you can't fly too high—the winds get very tricky when you get close to the rim.  
  
The game is mostly the same as in England, but they have some different customs. Organized cheering, for instance; they're very big on that. Also, they like a game that's close scoring; they seem to think that an unevenly matched battle is an insult to the spectators. And anyone who cheats or throws a deliberate foul on the pitch is treated shabbily off the pitch. This last game, one Beater hit someone in the back of the head, and the whole school refused to speak to him for a week.  
  
It would be so nice if Hogwarts sent a team here, and you had a chance to play the KMG team, and look around the campus. Almost everyone here is very nice (Andrew is still Andrew, unfortunately), and you'd be treated like an honoured guest. (Especially by me!) But I'll see you again in just a few more days.  
  
Enjoy yourself (not too much!) until we meet again in Diagon Alley.  
  
Love you,  
  
Cho"  
  
As he reread the letter, something about it struck him. Just to be sure, he read through all the letters he'd gotten that summer from Cho. Even including their argument letters at the end of July, it made for a very pleasant hour. There was nothing definite, nothing he could absolutely point to, but each letter seemed to have the odd phrase, the slight twist of meaning at some point, which hinted that Cho might want—or was that just his wishful thinking?  
  
He had told Ron the truth the other day: while he had a great many fantasies about making love with Cho, he didn't have the first idea how to approach her about it. She was older (if only by one year), and she was smarter (if being Sorted into Ravenclaw counted for anything). Part of him was willing to let her give him the lead in that.  
  
But another part of him was afraid it meant that nothing would happen for another year—at the least. Was there anything that he could do at his end to help things along?  
  
He thought about it a while, then jumped out of bed, grabbing a parchment and quill:  
  
"Dear Zafar,  
  
Thanks again for taking me to your club on my birthday. It turned out to be my best present that day.  
  
Maybe you've heard from the girl who brought the music that day, Cho Chang, that she'll be back there on the thirty-first. Maybe you also know that she means a great deal to me. We'd been seeing each other for a year before she moved to Japan a few months ago. Our next meeting may be the last for a long while, and I want to make it really special. Can you think of anyplace around Brixton that would be good for a picnic?  
  
Thanks again for everything.  
  
Harry Potter"  
  
There was a rustle at the window; as if she'd read his mind, Hedwig was sitting there waiting. Harry tied the letter to her leg, and made a point of carefully pronouncing, "Zafar Ajneeri; he runs the club MoshiMoshi in Brixton." He held out a treat for her; she snatched it from between his fingers, turned and flew off to the south.  
  
As he dressed to go down to breakfast, Harry marveled at why Muggles still used pillar-boxes to send letters. A pillar-box can't love you back.  
  
xxx  
  
Harry was just finishing breakfast when Ron popped out of the fireplace at the Leaky Cauldron. He dusted off the soot and joined Harry at his table.  
  
"What do you want to do, then?" Ron asked.  
  
"Well, I really don't know much about London. It ought to be full of interesting things, though. I know that people come thousands miles just to look around the city."  
  
"Well, you probably know more about it than I do, growing up with the Muggles and all."  
  
"Don't forget; we're talking about MY Muggles. I doubt they've read five books a year between the three of 'em."  
  
"Well, the Grand Tour was boring enough. I don't want to have to look at something else that just sits there. Can you think of anything good?"  
  
"By good you mean…"  
  
"Something with a little blood and torture to it."  
  
Harry thought for a few seconds; then a light came to his eyes. "The Tower of London, of course! That's where Henry the Eighth had four or five wives put down…"  
  
"Geroff!"  
  
"And Richard the Hunchback killed off I don't know how many relatives to take the throne."  
  
"Now you're talking! Where's the Tower?"  
  
"I don't know. Let's just get to King's Cross; we should be able to get directions from there."  
  
"Okay. Er, you think this looks allright?"  
  
Ron had dressed for the occasion in Muggle style, with a striped T-shirt and blue jeans. Harry had done the same, except that his shirt was a synthetic button-down. With his glasses and unkempt hair, Harry looked every inch the "nerd".  
  
It was then that Harry noticed for the first time the knapsack on Ron's back. "What's that for, then?"  
  
Ron dropped his voice. "My wand, of course. Can't just go wandering around without protection. Besides, Mum told me I had to take it or I couldn't come along. She's all worried about You-Know-Who."  
  
"You honestly think he'll attack in the middle of London?"  
  
"Don't you?"  
  
To tell the truth, Harry hadn't really given Voldemort much thought all summer. He saw the occasional article in the Daily Prophet, but it was all part of some other world--a world that could just wait until Harry Potter decided to visit. Still, he thought he'd better not take too many chances. "Mind if I put my wand in there too, then?"  
  
"Help yourself."  
  
Harry dashed up to his room to get his wand, unused and neglected most of the past two months, from his trunk. "Going on an outing, then?" the mirror asked.  
  
"Tower of London."  
  
"Super! Give my best to the ghosts."  
  
"They have ghosts there?"  
  
"Quite a number of them, so they say. Pity I couldn't get to see them."  
  
"I'll give you a full report." Harry, wand now in hand, dashed back down the steps. He stuffed it into Ron's knapsack.  
  
"Hold on," he said as they were just leaving the Leaky Cauldron. "You think this'll take money?"  
  
"Just about everything does in the Muggle world."  
  
"I'd better change some money, then. Have a pastry or something while I dash over to Gringotts."  
  
"On you?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
"Well, if you put it that way…"  
  
As Harry rode the crazy underground cart to his vault at Gringotts, he was worried about two things. One was the cart leaving the rails and falling into a bottomless abyss. The other was Ron. As long as he'd known Ron, Harry was very aware that there wasn't a lot of extra money in the Weasley household. He'd worn Dudley's hand-me-downs mainly because the Dursleys couldn't stand the idea of Harry owning anything. Ron, on the other hand, wore his brothers' old clothes because there was no avoiding it. This always made Harry feel embarrassed when he saw (as he did now) the contents of the vault. The Weasleys could make better use of that money than he ever could, even though it had been set apart for Harry Potter…  
  
By whom? And when? And where did it come from? Harry never did learn the answers to those questions. Dumbledore would probably know, and so would Sirius Black. He figured, as he raked money into a leather pouch, that he'd probably get straighter answers from Sirius.  
  
After a quick stop to change gold Galleons into paper Muggle money, Harry and Ron were off to the Tower of London.  
  
xxx  
  
Getting there was fairly easy, although it cost Harry more than he thought at first. From King's Cross they took the Underground to Baker Street. They were only there for a little while, waiting for their next ride, while Harry tried to explain to Ron about Sherlock Holmes.  
  
"Sounds like Hermione's idea of a real man," Ron complained. "All he does is think, then?"  
  
"There's more to it than that. He was a kind of an Auror, I guess."  
  
Before Harry could explain any further, a double-decker bus with LONDON PRIDE painted on the sides pulled up. They rode through a variety of stops: Piccadilly Circus, Nelson's Column, Downing Street, Big Ben, London Bridge… These were places Harry had seen on television, if he'd seen them at all, and they were completely new to Ron. Harry could tell that, even though Ron liked to pretend that such tours were boring, he was fascinated in spite of himself, especially by the sheer size of London. Harry, who remembered some of the names from grade school history, enjoyed it all.  
  
Finally the driver announced the Tower of London. They got off the bus, and Harry expected that they'd be at a tall, thin building like the Astronomy Tower at Hogwarts. Instead, they saw that they were in front of an ancient castle, its thick stone walls blackened with age.  
  
They fell in with a group of other tourists, listening as a guide started to explain things. He started with himself and his uniform: red with gold piping and the kind of wide ruffle at the neck worn by Nearly Headless Nick. This was the uniform of a special group of guards known as Beefeaters.  
  
Ron whispered to Harry, "What do they wear for ham and eggs, then?"  
  
Harry tried not to laugh—not to laugh too loudly, anyway. He realized that he was lucky to have Ron for a friend. True, he acted up a lot, and often at the wrong time, but he knew that Ron was more than just a clown; Harry knew he'd fight like a lion if the need arose.  
  
The guard explained the history of the Tower: built by William the Conqueror, it had been used as everything from a zoo to a prison. THIS was what a history lesson should be, Harry decided. Rather than memorizing a list of names and dates, they were standing right there where it had all happened. He wondered if there wasn't a way Professor Binns' class could be like this. Then he realized that a lot of what Binns talked about in History of Magic involved bloody battles between goblins and other, scarier creatures. Reliving that past might not be such a good idea.  
  
At one point in the tour, while they were in a corridor of the so-called Bloody Tower, Ron fell back to the end of the group, then lingered by a closed door.  
  
"Come on," Harry whispered, "we don't want to get left behind."  
  
Ron pointed to the door. "You hear that?" Harry could indeed hear something; it sounded like children's voices, but they were muffled by the door. Before Harry could say anything, Ron reached into the knapsack, pulled out his wand, and used an unlocking charm ("the twins taught me that one"). He then slipped into the room, with Harry right behind him.  
  
The room was nondescript—nothing more than stone walls at odd angles, with doorways and corridors. It could have been anything from a bedroom to a torture chamber in the old days. For now, though, it was occupied by two boys, one a few years older than the other. Both, however, had long blonde hair—longer than Hermione's.  
  
"I will not!" shouted the younger one.  
  
"Will so!"  
  
"Will not!"  
  
"Will so!"  
  
"You'll do it because I said so and I'm King!"  
  
"You WERE King, but now you're dead, so you're nothing!"  
  
"Am not!"  
  
"Are too!"  
  
"Am not!"  
  
"Are too!"  
  
Ron started to laugh at their argument; he caught himself, but he'd been heard. The two children turned to look at them; then the older one ran off round a corner, shouting "Uncle! There's strangers here!"  
  
The younger one walked up to Ron and Harry. He was now close enough for them to see that he really was a ghost. He looked at the two rather critically, then said, "You get lost on the tour, then?"  
  
"No," Harry replied, "we just heard the voices."  
  
"You must be wizards, then. Most folks just leave us alone."  
  
"You're right; we are. I'm Harry and this is Ron."  
  
"I'm Richard, and that old thing was Edward. He'll be back in a minute, the spoilsport."  
  
"Edward?" Harry said, trying to remember his Muggle history lessons. "He wasn't King Edward the Fifth, was he?"  
  
"Yeah, for a little while. Then Uncle Richard had us locked up in here and killed. It's been pretty boring since then."  
  
"Aren't there any other ghosts?" Ron asked.  
  
"Yeah, but none of them are kids. And some of the grown-up ghosts are pretty useless." Prince Richard was interrupted by a weird bellowing coming from down a corridor. "Here comes one now."  
  
Edward reappeared, trying to steer an adult ghost—a man who could hardly walk at all, much less walk a straight line. This ghost was feeling quite happy as he howled out an old song in a very bad voice: "Alas my love, you do me wrong to cast me off discourteously…" followed by a colossal belch.  
  
Ron was losing the battle to keep a straight face. Harry felt pretty sure who this ghost was. "You'd be the Duke of Clarence, wouldn't you?"  
  
"I would be, laddie, if I still were. Alive, that is. They don't expect you to keep your dukedom if you lose your life. It would rather slow things up in the House of Lords."  
  
Ron leaned over to Harry and whispered, "What's his problem, then?"  
  
Harry answered, "He was drowned in a barrel of wine."  
  
"Cool."  
  
"Excuse me, you disrespectful pups, but it's rude to talk about someone in front of their face. Though I guess I don't really have no face no more, do I?" The ghost sat heavily down on the stone floor and started weeping.  
  
Prince Richard turned to the wizards. "How would you like to put up with him for five hundred years? Would've killed us if we weren't dead already."  
  
Edward turned on his younger brother. "Can't you be positive for a change? Can't you be pleasant for once in your afterlife?"  
  
"What's there to be pleasant for? I'm stuck with a drunken old sot for an uncle, and a brother who won't let me forget he was King."  
  
"Well I WAS King!"  
  
"Fat lot of good it did either of us. You probably said something to Uncle Richard to make him mad, and you got us both killed."  
  
"Take that back!"  
  
"Won't!"  
  
"Yes you will!"  
  
"No I won't!"  
  
While their squabble continued, the Duke of Clarence started in again: "Alas my love you do me wrong…"  
  
Harry and Ron decided it was time to sneak out and rejoin the tour. They ran down the halls of the Tower, finally catching up with their group in the room housing the Crown Jewels. Once they were there, Ron said, "D'you think they were that stupid when they were alive?"  
  
Harry, who had been wondering much the same thing, just shrugged. "They're still Muggles, royal or not."  
  
"You think we'll ever have a wizard king?"  
  
"I dunno. There's so much more they have to know these days."  
  
The rest of the tour was uneventful. It was getting late, so they caught the bus, which took them to the Underground, which took them to King's Cross. From there they went to the Leaky Cauldron. Once they were there, Ron handed Harry his wand and took a vial of Floo powder out of his knapsack. "See you on the platform, then?"  
  
"No; come on by day after tomorrow. Hermione will be back from her trip, shopping for supplies."  
  
"Oh good. Just between you and me, the Barrow isn't the same this year without her staying over. Ginny's really missed talking with her."  
  
Harry grinned; "Yeah? And what about you?"  
  
Harry was joking with Ron, but Ron looked halfway serious as he said, "Like they say at the Ministry, no comment. See you then." He dashed some Floo powder into the fire, stepped in after it and was gone.  
  
When Harry got up to his room, Hedwig was on the windowsill with Zafar's reply. Harry couldn't help but grin: "Perfect."  
  
…to be continued… 


	10. How I Spent My Summer

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
by monkeymouse  
  
a/k/a Patrick Drazen  
  
2.10: A Different Side of Hermione  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
Harry spent much of the 29th wandering around Brixton, following up on some of the points in Zafar's letter. He was tempted to start purchasing things for the 31st, but then he realized that this would all be part of the day spent with Cho.  
  
He had another appointment to keep on the 30th, and after breakfast that day he stepped out onto Diagon Alley. The street had started filling early with last-minute shoppers preparing to go to Hogwarts in two days time. He hung around Gringotts Bank for a while, until the stares of the goblins who worked there became a little too intense. He moved on down Diagon Alley, looking in one shop or another, but seeing only a few people he knew from school. Neville Longbottom was in Madam Malkin's getting fitted for new robes—it seemed to Harry that his entire year had changed this summer, as if they were all werewolves under a full moon. Neville saw Harry reflected in the store mirror, waved to him, and upset the stool he was standing on. Colin Creevey still had his camera out, taking pictures of everything he saw; Harry avoided Colin only because he'd been photographed enough to last a lifetime.  
  
Harry looked wistfully down Diagon Alley and, for the first time he could recall, saw—actually saw—the Chang apothecary shoppe. They must have lifted the Confundus Charm that stopped Harry finding it—almost stopped him, anyway. Granny Li was sweeping the sidewalk; if she saw him, she gave no sign. Harry didn't try to get her attention, either; she had warned him that he had to "be good boy" for another year, while Cho was still in school. After that … he didn't want to jeopardize anything after that, so he held his tongue.  
  
"OY HARRY!"  
  
Ron had just stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron; he must have gone there by Floo powder again. They fought the rushing crowds to get to each other.  
  
"Seen her yet?" Ron asked.  
  
"No; maybe it's too soon."  
  
Ron pointed across the road, at Florian Fortescue's ice cream parlour. "Well, while we're waiting, I wouldn't say no…"  
  
Harry got the message, and didn't begrudge Ron in the least. Their friendship had gotten to the point where even gold Galleons didn't tip the scales one way or another. Harry was happy to share whatever he had with Ron, secure in knowing that Ron would do the same—if, that is, the Weasleys ever had anything extra to share.  
  
They had just started in on their ice cream (raspberry sundae for Ron, banana split for Harry) when they heard her—  
  
"HARRY! RON!"  
  
If they hadn't heard Hermione Granger's voice a few seconds before she showed up at their table, they wouldn't have recognized her. As it is, once she put down the three carrier bags full of books, they kept staring at her.  
  
"Do I look bad?" Hermione asked, reaching for her hair, worry in her voice.  
  
"Not at all," Harry quickly replied. Hermione, to the contrary, never looked--prettier. It actually seemed odd to Harry to describe someone he thought of as a friend as "pretty", but it applied in Hermione's case. Her skin was a rich and even tan, and her hair, though still thick and a bit coarse, seemed to have lightened a shade or two.  
  
She sat at the table while Harry ordered her a dish of peanut butter and caramel ice cream. Ron didn't comment on her looks, but on her books.  
  
"How can you do this every year?" he asked. "You take more courses than a sane witch ever would."  
  
"Meaning I'm insane?" Hermione was smiling as she said it; she and Ron had had words before, but they were often simple misunderstandings. The three of them had been fast friends since their first day on the Hogwarts Express—and now they were about to begin their sixth year.  
  
"I do have to set a good example now, you know" Hermione went on, as she adjusted a fold in her robe that briefly covered her Prefect badge.  
  
"For weightlifters, maybe," Ron smirked.  
  
"Really, why so many this time?" Harry asked.  
  
"Well, this is when it all gets serious, isn't it? We have our OWLs this year and our NEWTs the next. I have to give some thought as to what comes after Hogwarts."  
  
"And what did you decide?"  
  
"Well," Hermione said—and Ron simply rolled his eyes and kept eating. He knew Hermione was about to launch into a lengthy explanation. "Before I got my first Hogwarts letter, I really wanted to follow my parents' lead and go into some form of medicine. But that always seems to take so long and, while I wouldn't mind a few more years of school, I really feel the need to be useful to somebody sooner than that. Anyway, I haven't ruled healing out entirely yet; I'd like to have a few words with Madam Pomfrey before I decide one way or the other, but for now I've decided to take the Auror courses."  
  
"Auror?" Harry asked with surprise. It seemed too active a career for someone as bookish as Hermione. "What made you choose that?"  
  
"It was what Professor Moody said. One time he said I'd be a natural at it."  
  
"Excuse me, miss," Ron interrupted, "but we found this brain on the beach and thought you might have left it there by mistake."  
  
"And what's THAT supposed to mean?"  
  
"Our Dark Arts teacher, Mad-Eye Moody, was a fake. He was a Death-Eater! Remember?"  
  
"Yes," Hermione smiled, "but he was a Death Eater disguised as Professor Moody. Which meant that he had to avoid suspicion of being an impostor by only saying what the REAL Professor Moody would say. Ergo, the real Professor Moody would have said I was a natural Auror." She sat back in her chair, a satisfied smile on her lips.  
  
Ron was about to answer back when Harry held up his hand. "Don't bother; she's got you."  
  
Ron turned back to Hermione. If he thought she looked nice, he gave no sign except to ask: "Summer seems to have agreed with you. What did you do, then?"  
  
"Just … what we usually do," Hermione answered.  
  
"And that is…"  
  
"What my family does in the summertime. We just did more of it this year."  
  
"Did what? Why all the mystery?" Ron tried again.  
  
"Well, it's rather awkward to just blurt it out, sitting here in front of an ice cream parlour. But it's something my parents started doing when I was little, and I just grew up with it. Not many witches or Muggles go in for this, though."  
  
"In for WHAT??"  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. "My parents are naturists."  
  
"Oh," Harry nodded. "That's like a Save-the-Trees kind of thing, isn't it?"  
  
"Wrong," Ron scowled at him. "They're those nutters who run around stark naked all day long."  
  
"My parents are not nutters!" Hermione practically pounded the table.  
  
Ron went on as if she hadn't spoken. "They've got their own beaches, and little communities, and none of them wears a single stitch of clothes!"  
  
"Pull the other one; it's got an argyle sock," Harry said, turning back to his banana split.  
  
"HARRY!"  
  
"I've heard rumours about these Muggle lunatics..." Ron interrupted.  
  
"RON!!"  
  
"But what's the point in running around with nothing on? It would be a nightmare, wouldn't it?" Harry asked Ron, as if Hermione--whose face was getting more and more purple by the second--wasn't even there.  
  
"Well, don't ask her," Ron pointed vaguely toward Hermione. "If there was anything to it, she wouldn't be wearing those robes."  
  
This time Hermione did pound the table as she leapt to her feet. "I'LL HAVE YOU KNOW THAT I AM COMPLETELY NAKED UNDER THESE ROBES!!!"  
  
A dreadful silence fell on that corner of Diagon Alley. Shoppers stopped in their tracks, trying to place the source of those words. Hermione hurriedly sat down, put her head on the table and covered it with her arms, as if to protect it from pieces of falling sky, making a little noise that sounded like "eep".  
  
After about a minute, Ron cheerily turned to Hermione again: "So, old girl, you were telling us about your hols."  
  
Hermione kept her head buried under her arms. "First I am going to kill you, Ronald Weasley, and then I am going to die."  
  
"Come on, Hermione, a joke's a joke..."  
  
"No joke, Harry. We went to Spain and Greece, all right, but we stayed at nudist resorts and went to what they call "clothing optional" beaches."  
  
"But...but...hundreds of total strangers would get to see your..."  
  
"On the other hand, I got to see hundreds of total strangers."  
  
The blush on Harry's cheeks was almost as red as his scar. The very idea of a beach full of naked bathers had him more aroused than he could ever remember being, and he couldn't help thinking that those bathers would be just as aroused as he was. "So, what did you ... do?"  
  
Hermione shrugged. "It was a beach. We did what families do on a beach: got some sun, went in for a paddle now and then. I got a lot of reading done."  
  
"That's a big surprise," Ron said dryly.  
  
"And there were hikes and sometimes a dance in the evening..."  
  
"But you could have stayed home for that," Harry tried again. "You didn't have to take off all your..." Harry couldn't even finish the sentence.  
  
"Trust me, Harry, once you get into the middle of it, it's just not that important. It's like being at Hogwarts, or here in Diagon Alley. We're all wearing robes and pointed hats, so nobody really notices after a while. If we went to Harrod's or the Royal Albert Hall dressed like this, of course people would stare."  
  
"Yeah, I suppose, but what about, well, I mean don't people--and I don't mean you, of course," Harry hastily added, afraid of offending Hermione-- "but don't people get all ... I mean..."  
  
"Are you going on about sex?" The bluntness of the sentence hit both boys. Hermione, meanwhile, was back into her old attitude of lecturing the class. "Well, the fact is that it doesn't happen among naturists any more or less than any other group. People don't automatically get aroused just because their clothes are off."  
  
Harry still found this last statement hard to believe, but Ron interrupted him before he could speak. "I'll bet Vicky would."  
  
"That's VIKTOR! And…he didn't."  
  
"Didn't what?" Ron asked.  
  
"Don't be so thick, Ron. Don't you think there are naturists in Bulgaria?"  
  
"You mean–last summer–when you went–and YOU AND HE…" Harry was a bit worried. Ron looked as if he'd either inflate or explode.  
  
"Yes, Ron," Hermione sighed, sounding like a parent trying to explain something for the tenth time to a small child, "Viktor Krum and his parents met me and my parents on a beach, and we were both naked." Hermione seemed to get a bit sadder. "That's about all we had in common, as it turned out."  
  
"So you two didn't hit it off?" Ron had calmed down now and seemed almost … hopeful.  
  
"We didn't get much past 'hello'. He wanted to talk about the Tournament and Cedric and Quidditch. And we seemed to be getting on so well during the Tournament. All the time we were talking last summer, though, his mind seemed to want to be somewhere else."  
  
Ron had the strangest look on his face Harry had ever seen; as if he was thinking about something that once was bizarre, but suddenly made sense. In an instant, though, his face switched back to the old familiar Ron. "Nice try, Hermione, but I still think you're having us on."  
  
"You expect me to prove it?"  
  
"Why not, since you've got the chance?"  
  
Hermione paused. Then she slapped her hand down on the table. "Right, then. Finish up."  
  
xxx  
  
Five minutes later, the three were in Harry's room at the Leaky Cauldron. Ron sat on one side of the bed while Harry draped a bathroom towel over the mirror.  
  
"What's this all about, dearie?" the mirror asked.  
  
"This'll just take a minute, and I'd rather the landlord didn't find out."  
  
"Suit yourselves, then." the mirror yawned. "You ought to know the rules by now."  
  
"Okay, let me get this straight," Ron was saying. "You go off to these camps and beaches and things where nobody wears anything anyway. So what are you doing walking around Diagon Alley wearing nothing but your robes?"  
  
"I know this is going to sound silly..."  
  
"Never!"  
  
"Ron! As I was saying, I've spent most of the summer wearing nothing, or close to it. We go back to Hogwarts day after tomorrow, and I guess I just wanted one more day without having to worry about clothes. I just didn't want the summer to end this time."  
  
"Why not? Did something special happen?" Harry asked.  
  
"Who cares!" Ron interrupted. "Here's the bet, then. If Harry or I see anything like a tan line, we'll know you've been stringing us along."  
  
"And if you don't?" Hermione asked.  
  
"Some sort of homework torture you'll devise after we're back in Hogwarts."  
  
Harry sat next to Ron. Hermione stood just a few feet from them, with her back to them. She undid the clasp of her robe and let it fall off of her shoulders.  
  
Until that moment, Harry hadn't realized how erotic shoulders could be. Hermione's were perfectly sculpted; in his mind, they were the shoulders of an athlete. She must have been a serious swimmer who went into the water for more than "just a paddle". She looked back over her shoulder at the boys, smiled, then turned her head and loosened her robes some more.  
  
The back beneath her shoulders was just as perfect. Its curves and contours spoke to Harry of an active, un-bookish summer, while the darker- than-usual skin was iridescent, soft-looking and feminine. Harry didn't dare look to see if Ron was as excited as he was.  
  
But Ron called out: "I don't believe you, Hermione Granger! You're enjoying this! You're just a teaser!"  
  
"I hardly think so," she smiled back over her shoulder at Ron. "But how many chances do I get to prove that I'm right and you're not?"  
  
"You want that list alphabetical or starting with the most recent?"  
  
"Ha ha very funny. Are you ready to admit I was right?"  
  
"Not at all. I've seen pictures of swimsuits that would let you get that kind of tan."  
  
"Well, if you think I'm turning around..."  
  
"No need. Just show us your bum."  
  
Hermione seemed a bit vexed. She had hoped to get Ron to admit defeat before things had gone this far. She now found that she could no longer let her robes down in the back and still hold them over her breasts in the front. She turned back around, took a breath and let her robes slip down further, front and back.  
  
Harry and Ron couldn't see her breasts from where they were sitting, but, if they leaned, they could make out the swell of them on the sides as they appeared. They too were--Harry couldn't use any other word--perfect, as far as he could see. Not too big, not too small, no sag at all. Perfect as a statue in a museum.  
  
Which also included the cleft that started at the small of Hermione's back, and then grew to divide the two perfectly matched halves of her bottom. The robe stopped just short of revealing what lay beyond the cleft.  
  
More important, they could see that every inch of skin was the same color; no lighter patches, no tan lines. Hermione had been telling the truth.  
  
After about half a minute, Hermione pulled her robes back up, fastening the clasp before turning back to the boys.  
  
"Well, does that settle the matter?"  
  
Harry wasn't aware she had spoken or even moved. He was still lost in contemplation of the physical charms of Hermione Granger, the first girl ever to willingly reveal so much skin to him.  
  
Ron was more alert; "Okay, you win. What sort of torture were you planning?"  
  
"Actually, you don't have to do anything, except one thing. You cannot ever tell a single person what just happened here. Fair enough?"  
  
"I suppose. By the way, what DID just happen here?"  
  
"Well, I would have though it was pretty obvious."  
  
"True," Ron smirked, "you didn't have much to hide." Harry was still lost in his own thoughts; Ron shoved him. "Wake up; gotta take a quiz now."  
  
"You mean, was there anything else beside my proving a point? You don't seriously think that--"  
  
Harry was wiping off his glasses, which had become fogged up. "You've got to admit, not everyone gets a display like that in their lifetime."  
  
"Well, I was absolutely NOT trying to lead you on! The very idea-- I mean, you're the oldest friends I have at Hogwarts!"  
  
"Try that again and you'll make a whole lot of new ones," Ron interrupted.  
  
"STOP THAT! This was just to prove that my family really are naturists. THAT'S why I don't want you to talk about this; people will be dying to read other things into it."  
  
Harry held up his hands. "Relax, Hermione, your secret's safe with us."  
  
"The last thing I need is smutty gossip behind my back."  
  
"So to speak."  
  
Something about Ron's quip struck Harry as insanely funny; he started laughing, and found it hard to stop.  
  
"Of course, if they did say something about it," Ron went on, "you could always turn the other cheek."  
  
This struck Harry as even funnier. He rolled on the bed, laughing longer and louder, even though tears were in his eyes and he was finding it hard to breathe.  
  
"I swear to you, Ron Weasley, that I have absolutely no intention of becoming the butt of…"  
  
Ron didn't have to say anything; he just cocked one eyebrow at Hermione. That was all it took; she started laughing, and not one of her usual fits of the giggles. This was deep, loud, from-the-lungs-and-from-the-heart laughter. Ron started laughing along with her. Harry laughed so hard he rolled off the bed and onto the floor.  
  
After a minute or two, all three were on the floor, gradually coming back to themselves.  
  
"It's a shame this has to be our secret," Ron finally said. "Nobody would ever believe you were capable of that, especially being Prefect and all."  
  
Hermione seemed to come suddenly awake. "Oh my; my parents! I was supposed to meet them!" She gathered up all her books and started for the door.  
  
"Hermione, wait!" Ron shouted. "Can't you spend one night in the Burrow? Ginny would really like to talk to you."  
  
"Sorry, Ron; really have to do this. See you on the train!" And she was gone.  
  
"What was that all about?" Ron asked.  
  
"Dunno. You think maybe she has a boyfriend?"  
  
"You're the one with the girlfriend; you tell me."  
  
Harry had to think a minute. "Nah, doesn't seem likely."  
  
"Well, I'd better get back," Ron said. "See you at King's Cross."  
  
"Say 'hi' to your family for me."  
  
Ron stopped at the door; "Why don't YOU come back to the Burrow, then?"  
  
"Sorry, Ron, but Cho's coming tomorrow."  
  
"Say no more," Ron sighed as he left Harry alone in the room.  
  
…to be continued… 


	11. Summer's End

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
by monkeymouse  
  
a/k/a Patrick Drazen  
  
2.11: Summer's End  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
Author's Note: The song that is "filked" here is a real one: "Pilot" was composed by Yoko Kanno, and sung by Maaya Sakamoto, who also wrote the lyrics.  
  
Note: sexual content  
  
* *  
  
On the morning of August 31; Harry Potter woke up as nervous as he'd ever been; as if he were meeting Cho's parents instead of Cho herself. He knew she'd be there, but didn't know when. He knew they'd be together for the day, but he didn't know where. Not exactly, anyway.  
  
He fussed more with his untamable hair on this morning than he had all summer, finally deciding to let it do what it wanted to do. He dashed downstairs to the dining room the minute Tom opened it for breakfast. It was early in the morning, but he felt let down when he looked around the Leaky Cauldron and didn't see her. It's too early, he chided himself; what are you thinking?  
  
Two minutes later, Cho Chang Ported in, holding a carrier bag of records and tapes in one hand and a rolled-up umbrella–the Portkey–in the other. She dropped both to throw her arms around Harry, for the first time in a month. No one came in to interrupt their kiss, not even Tom.  
  
Harry smiled when he saw she still wore the necklace he had given her for Christmas: a thin gold chain with two rings, one red for Gryffindor and the other blue for Ravenclaw. "What are your plans?"  
  
"Take this to the club, of course, when they open." She pointed to the carrier bag. "I forgot about the time difference."  
  
"Wait a minute. Last time YOU told ME about the time difference!"  
  
Cho simply smiled and shrugged. "You have me there. Truth is, I wanted to spend all day with you today. Then I'll go with you down to King's Cross tomorrow; see you off at the train, maybe talk to some of the others on the platform; four months seems like such a long time."  
  
"And tonight?"  
  
"I could stay with my family, but they don't even know I'm here."  
  
"Aren't you going to tell them?"  
  
Cho looked down at the table, smiling slightly and blushing slightly. "Not just yet."  
  
They sat at a table by the window overlooking Diagon Alley. Cho wanted to order everything on the menu for breakfast–"It's been so long since I've had any of these!"–but Harry advised her to keep breakfast light. He wouldn't say any more than that "lunch is going to be a bit different", and Cho couldn't get him to let out any more details.  
  
Instead, they talked about Cho's school in Japan, and Harry seeing Ron and Hermione again (although he didn't tell her everything about those encounters). Harry mentioned that, just the other day, he noticed that he could see the Changs' shoppe, and Cho's eyes lit up. "Gran hadn't mentioned it in her last owl. I suppose that they think you're harmless. And you're leaving for Hogwarts tomorrow anyway."  
  
"Let's go see them, then."  
  
"Harry, don't joke about that."  
  
"I'm not joking!"  
  
Cho shook her head. "You don't know them the way I do. Gran said you had to wait another year, and that's that. When the year is up, they will send for you."  
  
"You make them sound like royalty."  
  
"My parents? They might as well be." Cho took a long drink of tea. "Enough of that. What mysteries do you have planned for the day?" she smiled.  
  
"Let's go find out," Harry smiled back. Taking a knapsack with his wand and a roll of Muggle money, he led Cho out onto Diagon Alley. He glanced at the other end of the street, toward the Changs' shoppe, but it was Cho who pulled him around the corner. "Later," she said.  
  
They went to King's Cross and took the Victoria Line from there to Brixton. When they came out and saw the open-air market, the change in Cho was remarkable. She was like a child visiting Honeyduke's for the first time. Everything was fascinating to her, from the food in the stalls to the people who sold them and their barely-understandable English. Yet she tried to talk to everyone they met, acting as if most of them were old friends.  
  
At one stall, where a woman sold bolts of cloth with African batik patterns, Cho went straight for one bolt of Ravenclaw-blue cloth with black geometric patters. "Oh Harry! Wouldn't this make a smashing set of robes?"  
  
"Yeah, I guess."  
  
"You guess?"  
  
"All I know is, I'd love you in anything."  
  
Cho chuckled, kissing Harry o the cheek. "You're easy to please."  
  
They spent the next hour buying food for their picnic lunch. There were things that neither had ever heard of before, and a few that they weren't sure they wanted to try, but they settled on jerk chicken, chunks of mango, and two small bottles of pineapple juice.  
  
"So where's the picnic going to be?"  
  
"That way." Harry pointed past the open-air market. They walked to Brockwell Park, a large stretch of land that looked set up for some summer festival or other.  
  
"Bit crowded, isn't it, Harry?"  
  
"Just follow me." They made their way through the crowd that was already gathering. Harry led Cho to the edge of the crowd, where there was a slight rise. They walked up the hill, then Cho let out a gasp.  
  
Just over the rise was the rest of Brockwell Park–only this side was seldom used for festivals or anything else. It was as if they'd been Ported to another part of England, miles from the nearest village.  
  
"Harry! This park isn't magical, is it?"  
  
"It is if you're here."  
  
Cho ran ahead about a hundred yards to claim space under two elm trees growing together. As they set up their lunch, Cho asked, "I suppose we won't want to be disturbed." Without waiting for an answer, she pulled her wand out of the carrier bag, drew a circle in the air and said, "Camera Oscura!"  
  
"What's that, then?"  
  
"The Secret Room Charm,"  
  
"That's a new one on me."  
  
"You'll learn about it in sixth year; the Ministry set an age restriction on it. Professor Flitwick told us all sorts of awful stories about children trying the charm, locking themselves in hidden rooms then not knowing how to get out. Grownups would be looking for them, worried sick, and couldn't see or hear that the children were right there. He said some had even died that way; I'd hate to think that's true."  
  
"When I first found out I was a wizard, I thought magic would be this great lark; pulling rabbits out of hats, making things appear and disappear all at once. It seems to get less and less fun every year, the more I learn about it."  
  
"It's called growing up, Harry."  
  
They didn't say much while they ate lunch, except to comment on the surprising taste of the food. They ate slowly, enjoying the taste of the food, the perfect weather of the day, and each other's company. Finally, they were done.  
  
"Got a question for you." Harry sat with his back against a tree; Cho lay on her back on the ground, using his legs for a pillow. Harry idly twirled a lock of Cho's hair around his finger. "When did you know about you and me? When did you first really, really know?"  
  
"That's not so simple, Harry, since I grew up hearing your name. I was just two years old when you stopped the Dark Lord, so for weeks all anyone could say was "Ha Li Po Te" this-that-and-the-other. Everyone made you out to be this amazing person.  
  
"So when you first got to Hogwarts, and they called you for the Sorting, my ears pricked up. I'd finally get to see what Harry Potter looked like, and the first thought in my mind was, 'But that can't be Harry Potter; he's so CUTE!'"  
  
Cho laughed at the memory; so did Harry, but not too enthusiastically.  
  
"I didn't mean to embarrass you," Cho added, "but you know what second- years can be like. I thought I knew everything. Anyway, as soon as I heard you'd made the Quidditch team, I tried to get on Ravenclaw's team. I liked flying well enough, but I never really thought about it until then. I made it onto the reserve list, but I still took practice with the others. I was the only girl on Ravenclaw's team, and they weren't too kind to me. I think they were roughing me up, to see if I would quit. I got to know Madam Pomfrey rather well that year. The year after that, of course, the season was cut short.  
  
"The next year, though, the previous Seeker had graduated, and I got the place. My first game was also our first game together. I blocked you that one time from getting the Snitch."  
  
"I remember. You cut me off and then gave me that little smile, like you were rubbing it in."  
  
"Hardly," Cho laughed. "The fact is, one close-up look into those green eyes and I was stopped dead. I went goofy for a second; I really forgot I was playing Quidditch. You should have heard some of the things Davies called me after that match.  
  
"When it came to the finals, I wished you luck in the Great Hall."  
  
"Yeah, I heard you. I guess everyone else did too."  
  
"But I was torn between yelling 'Good luck Harry' or 'I love you!'. I decided the latter might put you off your game."  
  
"And then the Tournament, and Cedric."  
  
"You're not still upset about him, are you?"  
  
"No. Mad at myself, maybe, for not speaking to you sooner."  
  
"But there's more to it than that. When I was growing up, I had a picture in my head of what the Great Young Wizard Harry Potter would look like, and Cedric fit that picture. When he took a liking to me, I couldn't help but like him. In a sense, I liked him because he was standing in for you."  
  
"And I was worried about you thinking I was standing in for him."  
  
"No worries, Harry, ever again." She pulled his head down to hers; their lips met, light but hungry. "And how about you; when did you know?"  
  
"Same game, same moment, as it happens. I saw you there, for the first time really, my stomach went all helter-skelter, and all I could think was "She's pretty". Wood didn't like it any more than Davies liked you."  
  
"Just pretty? Is that all?" Cho teased.  
  
"Well, there were a couple of other thoughts, but I wasn't about to mention them."  
  
"Hmm. Are you sure you can't mention them now?"  
  
"How strong is that Oscura charm?"  
  
"Ah, those kinds of thoughts." Cho dropped her voice. "I've had those myself."  
  
"Mind if I ask when?"  
  
"When we were in Hogsmeade, and you were the stag. I was happy that you came to see me, and sad to be going, and angry at my family for coming for me, and proud that you'd succeeded in changing yourself. And..." She turned her face away from his; "and something else."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, animals don't wear clothes, do they? And your, er, little friend was right out there, plain as day. I really had to resist the temptation to reach down and pet him."  
  
Harry started blushing. "Yeah, well, at the end, when you were rubbing my back, I mean the stag's back, if you hadn't left off, the little friend was almost ready to come out and play."  
  
Cho suddenly sat up and turned toward him, her voice dropping to a whisper, although there was nobody anywhere nearby. "I have to confess, Harry; part of me wanted exactly that. I told you one time I wanted, just for a moment, to be a deer. That was the moment. For just that moment, I wanted to stand before you, as naked as you were. I wanted you to take me and mount me, in full view of my parents. I didn't want to belong to them any more; I wanted to be yours, completely, forever... God, Harry, I can't stop babbling..."  
  
He silenced Cho with his mouth on hers. Their kiss was fierce, hungry, with the knowledge, certain but unspoken, that Harry was off back to Hogwarts the next day, while Cho was off back to Japan, and neither knew when they'd see each other, hold each other again…  
  
Their hands clutched each other's back, their tongues danced in each other's mouth. They rolled on the grass, not looking at anything, past thinking about anything but each other.  
  
Harry had become erect almost from the second he started kissing Cho. His rod was pointed straight up now, right behind the zipper of his jeans. As they rolled on the ground, Cho opened her legs, so that Harry rolled between them, his hardness pressing squarely at Cho's center, pressing against her already swollen pearl.  
  
Without thought, with an instinct far older than Hogwarts, as old as magic itself, Cho gasped, pressing her knees against Harry's hips, forcing his bulge to rub against her. The shock of the friction hit Harry like a blast of wind inside his body; her pushing him made him push against her, drowning himself in the feeling of the friction. Rhythmically, repeatedly, they thrust against each other, reaching for a nameless ecstasy they knew they could almost feel…  
  
and when Cho felt it, felt a rush of pleasure unlike anything she'd felt in her young life, her eyes rolled back in her head as her hips pushed up off the ground. This sudden thrust sent Harry over the edge; his climax soaking the insides of his trousers although Harry hardly noticed, moving from being tossed by a wave of ecstasy, through to floating in a sea of contentment, to a kind of emptiness that his heart told him could be filled by only one person…  
  
Harry was suddenly very aware that he was still on top of Cho, which might make her uncomfortable; he rolled to the side, but she rolled right with him, onto her side, so they were still face to face, her arms still around him, both of them still panting.  
  
Harry tried to speak, but couldn't find his voice. He had to clear his throat a couple of times. When he spoke, it was almost in a whisper: "Are you … um, do you feel…"  
  
Cho's breathing was still quick. "I…I'm not sure. I've never felt anything like that before, not even close. I think I passed out at the end there. I saw galaxies, planets, stars…"  
  
Harry put a finger to her lips. "I saw you. And you're more beautiful than any star."  
  
Cho's face scrunched up; she hid it in Harry's shoulder as she burst into tears.  
  
Harry swallowed hard. He was afraid of something like this: it was his nightmare. As many times as he'd fantasized about making love with Cho Chang, his fancies usually ended one of two unflattering ways. Either she dismissed him for not knowing what to do, or she burst into tears of fear or shame or revulsion.  
  
He was so sure that he'd got it wrong that he wasn't ready for her next words: "I'm sorry, Harry," she sobbed, "I'm just so happy, and I love you so much."  
  
A thought sparked in his mind, and began to glow into a flame. He pushed it aside for the moment as his hold on Cho tightened. "I love you too. And I always will." They lay in the grass for a few more minutes before Cho's tears subsided and they sat up.  
  
When Cho spoke, it was hesitantly: "Harry, would you mind turning, just for a minute, so I can…"  
  
"Oh! Of course; I'm sorry," Harry stammered, turning his back on Cho to let her straighten herself up. Harry took advantage of the moment to spell himself clean as well. As he did so, he remembered hearing the older boys at Hogwarts refer to what they'd just done as a "dry hump". They've got to come up with a better name, Harry thought to himself; the insides of his trousers were anything but dry.  
  
Cho opened the Secret Room Charm, the gathered up their things, threw the trash in a nearby barrel, and walked back toward Brixton. They were holding hands, but also looking mostly down or ahead, exchanging only a few furtive glances, as if each wasn't sure what the other was thinking.  
  
They'd only gone a few paces when Harry, still staring straight ahead, blurted out: "Look, I hope I haven't offended you or anything, I really didn't plan for that to happen. If you want to be done with me I'll understand, but …"  
  
"Do you really think I'd turn away from you?" Cho drew herself even closer to Harry, leaning her head against his shoulder. She looked up into his eyes, smiling: "If you don't know me any better than that…"  
  
Walking back through Brockwell Park, through the open-air market and the streets of Brixton to Zafar's club, Cho suddenly started chuckling to herself.  
  
"What brought that on?"  
  
"Why on earth did one of the most wonderful feelings in the world get one of the worst names? "Orgasm"--who came up with that one?" They were both chuckling now. "Sounds like something we have to fight off in Dark Arts."  
  
"Or in Magical Creatures," Harry laughed, picking up Cho's thought and launching into an impression of Hagrid: "Today we'll be studyin' hinkypunks, grindylows and orgasms!"  
  
Both of them were laughing now, long and loud. Some passersby looked disapprovingly at the noisy teenagers, while others saw them for what they were: two young people very much in love.  
  
* *  
  
There were already about two dozen young people in MoshiMoshi when they got there. Cho, who had only met Zafar for the first time a month ago, greeted him like a long-lost relative. She gave him the carrier bag, and started talking about one record in particular. No sooner had Zafar taken the records to the sound booth than Cho grabbed Harry's hand.  
  
"Come on, you. I owe you this."  
  
"Owe me what?"  
  
"I should have danced with you at least once at the Yule Ball. This will have to do."  
  
"But, Cho, I'm not really that good…"  
  
"Relax, Harry, this is a slow one; you already know what to do. Just put your left arm round my waist; I know you can do THAT. Then just take my hand in yours."  
  
"Now what?"  
  
Sinuous guitar music cut through the atmosphere of the club. "Now we just move in time to the music. That's all."  
  
It seemed easy enough, with Cho in his arms. As the music continued, the singer's voice came in–a woman's voice, but light and high and as pure as a child. "What's she singing about?"  
  
"I don't really know. It took me an hour with a dictionary just to translate a few lines. But some of the words are, "Can we fly when we're fast asleep? Can we fly just by our own power? We're not running, we're just imitating it, but we can't feel the aeroplane anymore.""  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?"  
  
"In our case, I think it's about what it's like to fly without brooms."  
  
"But how is that …"  
  
Cho put a finger to his lips. "Just listen, and dance."  
  
The singer's voice had just doubled; no, tripled; no, there were two choirs answering each other back and forth. Then all but the main voice disappeared for the second verse.  
  
The Yule Ball had been nothing short of a disaster for Harry: not knowing how to dance, not wanting to know how to dance, and certainly not wanting to be in the Great Hall to watch Cho dance with Cedric Diggory. That was almost two years ago now, and so many things had changed. Cedric was dead, and Cho was in his arms. Harry looked at her, felt her body leaning up against his, and realized that she had chosen the perfect song. They were flying without brooms.  
  
He realized something else. An idea had been pushing at him for months. It was an idle fancy at first, but started to take shape and become real when they were on their first Hogsmeade trip together. Every time it reappeared after that, it grew more insistent, more real. Now, he was actually dancing; Cho was in his arms. And the idea was full and complete; he didn't want to push t away another second.  
  
When the song ended, Harry and Cho just stood in each other's arms on the dance floor; they were there for a minute, before Harry led Cho to a table.  
  
Harry took her hand. "Cho, this has been an amazing day. What am I saying; the whole year has been amazing. A lot has changed since I got my first Hogwarts letter and found out about my real family. But you're the biggest and most wonderful change my life could ever have. I can't see into the future, but I know I want you in it. I don't have a ring or anything, but I'm making it official: Cho Chang, will you..."  
  
"WAIT! Don't look so sad, Harry. I know what you're going to ask, and I'm sure you know my answer. But--well, just indulge me in this. I want to ask them to play our song again, and I want us to be on the dance floor, and I want to be in your arms when you ask, and when I answer."  
  
She almost ran to the sound booth to request their song.  
  
Our song, marveled Harry to himself. That's the sort of thing that happens in the movies. He never thought it would really happen to him.  
  
Cho had just started back across the dance floor when the bomb went off.  
  
…to be continued… 


	12. The Great Mystery

A SUMMER PLACE  
  
by monkeymouse  
  
a/k/a Patrick Drazen  
  
2.12--The Great Mystery  
  
[If you found your way this far, you don't need me to tell you that JK Rowling created the Potterverse, and is still creating it…]  
  
from the London Register:  
  
BOMBING AT YOUTH CLUB  
  
by Rupert Nesta, exclusive to the Register  
  
A bomb was set off Thursday night in front of MoshiMoshi, a youth club in Brixton. The glass front window was blown into the building by the blast.  
  
Police have detained and are questioning Arthur Vincie, 57, of Horsham, a retired construction worker, who witnesses say placed the bomb and stepped across the road to watch it explode. He then waited for police to take him into custody. Vincie had been seen in front of the club for several days, trying to rally passers-by to attack the club as a "lair of witches" and a "Satanic den".  
  
"I don't like to speculate on what the courts will do," one officer told this reporter, "but the man was clearly a mental case. He spent all week going on about how the place was evil. To tell the truth, apart from the odd complaint about loud music, this address has been very well behaved. We looked around and didn't find so much as a can of beer or a cigarette end."  
  
Repeated calls to St. Bartholomew's Hospital, where the victims were taken, have not been returned.  
  
from the Daily Prophet:  
  
MUGGLE TERROR ATTACK  
  
by T.S. Rumpleteaser  
  
In a shocking display of Muggle persecution not seen since the days of Oliver Cromwell, a bomb was set off in front of a Brixton club that caters to student wizards and witches. A score of patrons were injured, one severely.  
  
"We painted over the window from the inside, so nobody could see in," said Zafar Ajneeri, manager of MoshiMoshi. "We were as discreet as we could be. I still don't understand why we should be targeted so deliberately."  
  
Muggle authorities had no trouble locating the bomber. Arthur Vincie, a Muggle construction worker, retired due to injuries, waited across the road for the bomb to explode, then took the credit when police arrived. Vincie had been seen in front of the club for the past few days, telling passers- by that the club was full of witches.  
  
"For now, we will treat this as an isolated incident by a deranged Muggle," a spokesman for the Ministry of Magic stated after the blast. "It's true that we cannot rule out that he was acting under the Imperius Curse, but personally I've never known such a curse to continue for almost a week, then change in intensity. Despite rumours to the contrary, we simply don't see the hand of the Death Eaters in this one."  
  
Most of the patrons of the club escaped serious injury, and were treated and released at the Special Wing of St. Bartholomew's. Among the guests was the famous Harry Potter, no doubt celebrating the final hours of the summer holiday before resuming classes at Hogwarts Academy. Ministry sources would not comment on whether Potter was the intended target of the attack.  
  
His companion, Cho Chang, a recent transferee from Hogwarts to Japan's Kesshin Maho Gakuin academy, bore the brunt of the blast. "She had broken glass all up her back," Ajneeri said. "She actually stopped others from being hurt. She deserves a medal."  
  
The Special Wing lists Miss Chang's condition as "guarded".  
  
* *  
  
Like a certain platform at King's Cross, there was a wall in St. Bartholomew's hospital that wizarding folk can pass through. On the other side was the Special Wing, where only the most extreme cases were treated—those that had to mix magic and medical science.  
  
Harry wanted to ride to St. Bartholomew's in the same ambulance as Cho, but they were separated in the confusion. He was brought in with other "walking wounded" whose injuries were superficial.  
  
In the emergency room, they told him that he only had a few cuts from flying glass, and bruises from being thrown against the back wall by the blast. "I could have told you all that," Harry muttered.  
  
No sooner did the nurse/witch finish saying "I'd say you're fit to be discharged…" when he ran out of the cubicle, looking for Cho.  
  
He went to the nurses' station, but there were already ten other people there: shouting, crying, asking questions. Harry took a quick look around. He saw a wizard in white robes and mask—with blood spattered on the front of his gown. "Doctor, where can I find Cho Chang?"  
  
"I'm not at liberty to tell you." He started to walk away.  
  
"You've got to tell me!" Harry pulled the mediwizard back to face him. "We were there together!"  
  
Now, the mediwizard looked more closely at Harry's face. Finally, he spoke: "You're Mister Potter, aren't you? Yes, of course you are. Would you come with me, please?"  
  
Harry thought that he was being taken to a recovery room; instead the mediwizard led him to a small examination room with two chairs. "Please wait here," the wizard told Harry; "the doctor will be here shortly." Before Harry could reply, he closed the door.  
  
Twenty minutes later, the door opened and another mediwizard walked in. Like the first one, he wore bloodstained white robes. This doctor, however, had ginger colored hair down to his shoulders, a bushy ginger- colored mustache, and sad grey eyes. When he spoke, it was with a slight accent similar to McGonagall's.  
  
"Mister Potter, you have to understand that we've worked harder on Miss Chang than on anyone else in here tonight. She caught the full force of the blast. There were glass slivers and debris all up and down her back."  
  
"But—but what are her chances? You can heal her, can't you?"  
  
"I'm sorry, but there are no chances. The damage was just too extensive. Either surgery or magic would just be too great a shock to her system. We'd end up killing her. We've made her comfortable, blocked the pain, and we've sent for her family. They're on their way. But she wants to see you."  
  
Harry was in a daze, letting himself be led by the mediwizard to another room. Was this really happening? Maybe he had wandered into a Muggle movie, and this was all special effects, and a director would yell "Cut!" and everything would stop and all the blood would be fake…  
  
Then he was in the room. There was a figure on the bed, with its back to him. Tubes and wires ran everywhere. He came around to the other side of the bed—and he couldn't deny the truth any longer. He sank into a chair, his head in his hands.  
  
"Harry, look at me. Look at me, please."  
  
He didn't want to see her as she was, with bloody bandages all over her head and face, an oxygen tube puffing into her nose, and bruises that made her look like the victim of a mugging. Still, he looked at her, and she smiled. "Thank you Harry."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For knowing me, for loving me, for sharing things I've never shared with anyone else. I'm afraid I'm going into the Great Mystery, my love. I'll wait for you, and I'll be happy remembering your courage, and your heart, and those beautiful green eyes."  
  
Harry heard the ginger-haired doctor behind him: "I'm sorry, Mister Potter, but her family is here. You'll have to leave now."  
  
One small part of Harry's brain, not shocked into numb silence, wanted to scream: "You're sorry?! The love of my life is dying, I see her for just thirty seconds, and all you can say is you're sorry??!!" But all that came out of Harry's mouth was, "Oh. Right." as he allowed himself to be led out into the hall.  
  
"We're in the Muggle part of the hospital now, so mind your behaviour," the doctor told him. "I suggest you wait in the chapel; last door on the left at the end of the hall."  
  
Harry didn't seem to want to go anywhere. When the doctor touched his shoulder, he walked, almost machine-like, down the hall and into the chapel.  
  
It was a small non-denominational chapel, a room that seated fewer than fifty people. There was a makeshift altar at the end of the room, with rows of chairs pointing toward it. On the altar were three tall vases of flowers; both the flowers and the vases were plastic. Beside the door, just as Harry came in, was a small stack of missals. He picked one up, more out of reflex, the need for something to do, than out of a conscious decision. They were all covered in identical black leather, and embossed in gold with the identical words: GOD IS LOVE.  
  
Something shattered inside of Harry Potter. He had held in his feelings since the bombing, afraid of what might come out. What came now was the howl of a wounded animal, as he picked up the missals one by one and flung them with all his strength in all directions. The first three hit the flower pots, sending them spinning. He didn't even look at where the others landed: chairs, tapestries, doors. After a minute he sank to his knees, then fell prostrate on the floor, his howls of pain turned to sobs of anguish, his chest heaving as if he wanted to turn himself inside out.  
  
"I told you to let her go," came a voice from a shadowy corner. "Sometimes I hate being right."  
  
The speaker, Sirius Black, stepped out of the shadows. His gaunt face was a little fuller; his long once-matted hair was now shoulder-length and gathered into a ponytail; and he wore a doctor's white lab coat. "I came as soon as I heard. I'm sorry, Harry."  
  
"But–aren't you worried? Somebody may see you."  
  
"It's been several years, hasn't it? I don't think anyone's still looking for me in the Muggle part of town. Anyway, this is what they call 'hiding in plain sight'. Everyone expects to see a man in a white coat in a hospital."  
  
Harry looked at him as if at a stranger.  
  
"Cedric Diggory," he said at last. "Bertha Jorkins. Some old Muggle whose name I forget. My parents. And now Cho. Sirius, I don't want to be The Boy Who Lived anymore--not with all this blood on my hands."  
  
"What do you mean, your hands? You didn't kill any of them."  
  
"They're all dead because of me. They got between me and Voldemort."  
  
"You're certain that Voldemort bombed the club, then?" Harry realized that he wasn't sure. Sirius went on: "Harry, do you know how they make a sword?" Harry didn't answer. "They stick iron in a fire until it glows white hot, so it can be molded; then they hammer it into shape. They do this to the iron again and again and again. I'm sorry it's your turn to be tried in the fire, but..."  
  
"Shut up, Sirius!" Harry cut him off angrily. "I'm not iron! I'm a person! Stick me in a fire, I feel pain. Hit me with a hammer, I feel pain!"  
  
"We've both felt it, Harry. You told me Voldemort used the Cruciatus on you. Now tell me which hurts worse: that or this?"  
  
Harry, who was still kneeling on the floor, looked up at Sirius. His face was a mix of sorrow and hatred that Sirius knew all too well. He'd spent much of his time in Azkaban with that same expression.  
  
After a minute, Harry looked back down at the carpet. "Do you have something to write with?" Sirius checked the pockets of the white coat, and found a pencil and a prescription pad. "Take this down."  
  
"What's this all about…"  
  
"I said, TAKE THIS DOWN!" Sirius had never seen Harry like this before–he was wild-eyed as a werewolf. Sirius decided to do what he said for the moment.  
  
"I don't know if this is right; I'm just going by what I heard on television. You can clean it up later." Harry took a deep breath. "I, Harry James Potter, declare this to be my Last Wizarding Will and Testament…"  
  
"Harry, stop this…"  
  
"JUST WRITE IT!" Sirius did so. "If I survive to the end of this year, then, on the stroke of midnight of January 1, I will leave the wizarding world, return to the Dursleys of Privet Drive, Little Whinging…"  
  
"You're not going back to those Muggles…"  
  
"ON MY KNEES! If I have to. I'll tell them I've seen the error of my ways. I'll tell them I'm through with magic. I'll get a Muggle job–I don't know what; bus driver, accountant, anything. I just want to disappear into that world and never deal with wizards or spells or anything to do with magic ever again."  
  
"And how is this supposed to stop Voldemort from coming for you?"  
  
"Let me worry about that. Now, then. I name Sirius Black to be executor of the terms of this will, and to carry out those terms he may use whatever money is necessary out of my account at Gringotts Bank. He can do this because, before this year is out, I swear that I will clear the name and reputation of Sirius Black.  
  
"To my best wizarding friend, Ron Weasley, I leave my Firebolt racing broom and the remaining contents of my account at Gringotts Bank. I'm sure he can find good uses for both.  
  
"To my other best wizarding friend, Hermione Granger, I leave the Cloak of Invisibility formerly owned by James Potter, and I hope that she'll use it to have some fun in her life. And, Hermione: thanks for proving you were right in the Leaky Cauldron.  
  
"To the Owlery of Hogwarts Academy, I leave my dear Hedwig, and I am confident that she'll find a good home.  
  
"To Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts Academy, I leave my wand, if it survives me, so that Fawkes can be close to his feather.  
  
"And to Professor Rubeus Hagrid, Gamekeeper of Hogwarts Academy, I ... Oh God..." Harry was overcome again and couldn't continue for a minute. Then he gathered himself together: "To Professor Rubeus Hagrid, Gamekeeper of Hogwarts Academy, I leave the Christmas present I received from Cho Chang, because he always wanted a dragon around the place, and at least these won't burn his house down."  
  
Quick steps echoed down the corridor; Sirius ducked back into the shadows as Harry stood up. In came Granny Li, rushing to keep up with two other people Harry assumed were Cho's parents. Harry had only seen them at a distance a few months ago at Hogsmeade, but recognized Cho's father, who reminded him of a Chinese version of Uncle Vernon. Before he could say a word, though, Cho's mother walked up to Harry and slapped him hard across the face.  
  
Harry fell back, more surprised than in pain, but he was even more surprised when Granny Li, who was a good two feet shorter than her daughter, spun her around and slapped her just as fiercely.  
  
"You listen!" she barked at her daughter. Then she turned to Harry; "You listen too." She motioned Harry toward a chair; he sat down in it. Granny Li pulled up a chair opposite his, so close that their knees were almost touching.  
  
"Spider spins web; that's all he knows how to do. Fly gets caught in web; that's all he knows how to do. Fly can't see whole web, just part where he's caught. Fly thinks spider spun web just to catch him; fly is stupid. Web could have caught any fly, any time. Shouldn't take personally." She touched Harry's knee, and the sternness melted out of her face. "Ha Li Po Te made Cho very happy. You good boy. What happened, not your fault."  
  
Harry thought that, after all that had happened, he simply had no more tears left to shed. He was wrong. He slipped off of the chair onto the floor, put his head in Granny Li's lap and started crying yet again. The old lady stroked his wild hair with her withered hand, comforting him in a language he didn't understand.  
  
"HARRY!" A young woman's voice called in the corridor. "I just saw the Weasleys and..."  
  
Hermione Granger and most of the Weasley family stood in the doorway of the chapel. One look at Harry, and they knew all that they needed to know.  
  
* *  
  
The end of "Wizards Duel: A Summer Place"  
  
…to be concluded in "Wizards Duel: Sixth Year"… 


End file.
